


Vitreous King

by Nightbirdsong



Series: Kingdom of Yongnian [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fantasy AU, M/M, Part 2 of the epos series, kingdom au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 53,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightbirdsong/pseuds/Nightbirdsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children should not be born into a world where daggers are drawn in the dark to end their lives. They should be born free of weights and leashes around their necks. And Minseoks very own leash is the name he is born with, the heritage he is born with. A crown to be worn, a Kingdom to build and conquer in the name of his father. And he just wants to be free. He's a Prince, heir, warrior, lover, King Killer, first of his name to rule. He knows Jongdae belongs to him, Jongdaes life belongs to him - and Minseok belongs to him too. But this voice inside his head keeps telling him that there is no one to be trusted in this world. And the voice grows louder and louder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 2 of my epos series "Kingdom of Yongnian" and the events happening in this story take part before, during and after "a candle in the night". I know that Xiuchen isn't as popular as Xiuhan for example, but I will stick with the pairings as they have been set while planning this series. I still haven't found a beta reader but I tried to keep the typos at a minimum :) please enjoy ♡

The King is dead, long live the King!  
Blood, dripping from his sword and onto the white marble under his black boots, splattered over his armor and onto his face, means nothing but death. This blood, still warm just as the body that lies by his feat, means freedom. It means victory, it means revenge.  
The city is in uproar as he wipes his sword clean, eyes trained on the thin old man who has struggled against this until his last dying breath. Oh how his father has struggled against him, against them and against the sword that cut clean through his neck.  
And there is this strange feeling of satisfaction running through him as he watches the old mans head roll away, tumble down the stairs with barely audible thuds, wire-y gray hair slowly tinting crimson as the head rolls through puddles of blood.  
The city is filled with screams of terror and triumph, an uproar that is steadily rising like the beat of a drum that starts to thrum under Minseoks skin as he cleans his sword of every little drop of blood that is left on the perfectly crafted silver steel and he listens to the cries of agony and despair as the White Guard washes away the last remainders of his fathers reign in a stream of blood that fills the palaces halls, the streets, the courtyards and market places.  
Victory and freedom.  
It's a symbol like no other and he is still feeling this satisfaction filling up his chest when the head is picked up by one of his brothers and brought to the balcony to present it to the cheering crowd in the palaces courtyard.  
They were screaming for blood for years now, half of them starved or sacrificed in pointless wars for power and even more power. They scream now in victory, the King is dead, the King is dead. He knows he shouldn't feel like this, should at least feel a little bit of guilt but he doesn't. There is no reason for him to feel guilty, even though he just killed the man who is his father. His own flesh and blood, now beheaded on the floor in front of him.  
But Minseok knows that it is just the grim satisfaction of revenge that is coursing through him and he watches his brothers roar with the feeling of it. He can't.  
The crown is lying in the middle of the stairs and Minseok walks down towards it, picks it up with careful fingers and turns it in his hands. There is blood on it and he smiles to himself at the thought that this is his birthright. He was born for this, the first son to a cruel King and now he is King himself.  
And a hundred sons have served this King, hath brought him an empire and raised him to the most powerful man in the Waking World, but oh how did he thank them? With nothing but blood and slaughter. Infants killed, their throats slit in the arms of their mothers and wet nurses. Children murdered, sent onto the battlefield long before they were ready to face the horrors of a war. But the swords of his own sons were what brought him death, Minseok thinks with a small smile as he shoves his sword back into its scabbard and turns to look at his brothers who are walking out onto the balcony to scream their victory down into the courtyard. No one would ever speak the old mans name ever again.  
The King is dead, long live the King!  
A hundred sons have served the old man, have devoted their lives to him and now twenty of them are dead, murdered by their own father who has grown mad and now is dead.  
The world has a new King now, crowned rightful through blood and heritage.  
His brothers are pulling him forward onto the balcony and one of them is taking the crown from him, placing it atop his chestnut hair and they scream his name in the courtyard, in the streets and Minseok can feel it pulsing through his veins.  
Like a drum it beats under his skin and they are lifting his arms like he just won a war all by himself and the chanting is growing louder around him, is almost deafening to his ears.  
“The King is dead, long live the King!”  
Now the Age of the White Lord comes.

 

A child should be born into a world where nothing waits but the loving arms of a mother, the proud smile of a father and the protecting embrace of a wet nurse. A child should not be born into a world that is constantly at war, a crown already on its head like a collar on a dog that will be put on a leash. There should be no fanfares blown, no daggers drawn in the dark of a nursery, no wet nurses slain and no crying mothers who try to shield their child from the angry slashes of a blade, begging for their lives to be spared. A child should be born free, no weight on their shoulders and a life of freedom lying ahead, with trees to be climbed and bones to be broken by falling off a horse.  
But the children and heirs of Kings have no freedom in this world, they have leashes around their necks. And so does Minseok, from the moment he is born. He has scars he doesn’t remember getting, has never seen the capital city because his mother took him away from there as soon as he was old enough to travel. To save his life, they say, but Minseok doesn’t remember any danger. He remembers his mother crying over his bed sometimes at night, the guards standing by the door.  
He doesn’t know his father, doesn’t know the man that comes by once a year on Minseoks birthday and hands him over expensive gifts one after the other until Minseok is surrounded by so much luxury, he doesn’t even understand anymore, who he is.  
He doesn’t feel like a Prince, he feels like a normal boy who looks out of the window and longs for the outside where he watches the other boys his age play in the courtyard.  
His mother won’t let him, keeps him inside with all the toys and the swords and the books the King gives him for this birthdays and Minseok grows up too sheltered from the world to truly understand it. When he is ten years old, there is no King coming to see him for his birthday and the stream of gifts is replaced by a single man standing on the doorstep of White Hall, the hand on the neck of a boy who is just as young as Minseok himself, but he is taller and he looks afraid. His eyes are huge and full of uncertainty.  
“This is your Prince, heir to the throne of the Waking Kingdom of the Waking World, first born son to the King, future ruler of White Hall and the lands of the eastern Stone Forest and all the Frozen Islands.”, the man standing by the gate says and Minseok frowns, crossing his small arms over his chest as he regards the boy with curious but narrowed eyes, the other bowing clumsily before him.  
Minseok hates the titles that come with his name because they feel like chains that keep him strapped down to the castle and deny him his freedom.  
And he misses his gifts, misses the things his father used to send him to spoil him and what is he supposed to do with a boy? The warm hand of his mother against his neck rips him out of his thoughts and he startles, eyes flicking up to his mothers gentle face, the way her black curls frame her cheeks and neck, falling softly over her shoulders.  
“This is your first Confidant, given to you by your father. He comes from a wealthy family, so he is a boy with a name almost as great as yours, my son. He will pledge to you and give you his life and he will serve you until his last dying breath.”  
“How could he serve me?”, Minseok asks and turns to look at his mother, stretches his arms out for her to lift him up and even though he is almost too big for her to do so, she bends down and picks him up, sets him down on her hip so he can look down at the boy who is still bowing to him, shoulders trembling. And Minseok is scowling, his little hands gripping the fabric of his mothers dress tightly as he says: “He is just a boy and I don’t need a servant.”  
“But a Confidant is not a servant, child.”, the man says by the gates and Minseok looks away. “He will be by your side until the end, my Prince. You will never have loyalty such as the loyalty of a Confidant.”  
But Minseok doesn’t want loyalty, he wanted a horse for his birthday. 

 

Little Minseok is cruel but he doesn’t know it.  
He is spoiled rotten by both his mother and father, doesn’t know how the world outside works and he longs to go and ride into the Stone Forest with all its giant trees and snowflakes clinging to the lashes of the people who spent hours outside. Minseok wants to go out there and see for himself but all he can do is look out of a window while his new Confidant sits by the table behind him and does Minseoks homework.  
“Jongdae.”, Minseok says, voice cold as he turns around and faces the servant boy who lifts his head quickly and looks him straight in the eye, never afraid to meet his gaze.  
He’s a strange one, Minseok decided on their first days spent together. Yes, Jongdae is a strange one.  
“You’re loyal to me, aren’t you?”, he asks and Jongdae turns his head a little to the side as if he is trying to hide this one eyebrow arching like he always does when Minseok has this tone of voice directed at him. “I have vowed to be, Exalted.”  
“So.”, Minseok begins and turns back towards the window, watching raindrops splatter against the colored glass. “Get me outside. I want to see the Forest with my own eyes.”  
“But Exalted-”, Jongdae begins and Minseok looks back at him with a sweet little smile playing around his lips and Jongdae knows this smile because Minseok is a cruel child.  
“You’re loyal to me, aren’t you?”, he asks again and Jongdae doesn’t answer, doesn’t even nod. He just looks at Minseok and Minseok knows that he will never see the outsides.  
He expects his orders to be forgotten and ignored and he is already plotting revenge against Jongdae who is a year older than him, but not a Prince, no boy of name because here in the East, he is nothing but a child and Minseoks servant and Minseok is used to people bowing and bending to his every will.  
He doesn’t expect his door to open at the dawn of day, the sky nothing but a paling grey and yellow, Jongdaes gentle hands coaxing him awake and handing him a cloak after the Confidant helped him into his clothes, tying all the laces and buckling all the straps.  
“We’re going to ride out into the forest, your grace.”, Jongdae whispers and there is a smile on his face that is nothing but mischievous and Minseok finds himself oddly entranced by it.  
He doesn’t protest when Jongdae takes his hand and leads him out into the corridor, through hidden passageways Minseok didn’t even know were there until now and they are out in the open before he can even think about the consequences they will have to face when they return. There is a horse waiting for them by the gates, saddled and with a bag strapped to its side and Minseok realizes that Jongdae is really doing this. He is taking Minseok outside.  
“I can’t ride.”, he says, standing by the massive horse that seems to dwarf him beyond belief and for the first time in forever, Minseok is reminded of the fact that he is nothing but a child in a world of adults. Jongdae regards him with a look that is humored and concerned at once, his lips lifting up into a cat like smile Minseok has never seen him wear even once in the two months the boy is already with him.  
“I can.”, he says after a while, but it doesn’t seem like it’s what he wants to say and Minseok scowls at him, crossing his arms like he does many times a day and Jongdae rolls his eyes at him, climbing into the saddle and then offering both his hands so Minseok can climb up too. He is a little bitter about the fact that he has to sit in front of Jongdae, the boys arms wrapped around him from behind so he can take the reigns.  
And for the first time Minseok sees the gates pass him, sees the castles walls pass him and he takes in a deep breath and breathes in freedom. Jongdae rides slow, shifts with the movements of the horses muscles and Minseok wishes he could ride a horse all by himself because he yearns for the freedom of a chase after nothing, spreading his arms wide as he does so. He wishes for the rain to whip against his face like needles, wants to feel the wind in his hair, ripping at his cloak. But he can’t and Jongdae is too careful for Minseoks liking.  
And when he sees the Stone Forest, sees the trees that are frozen in stone until the end of time ever since the Dragons burned down the Eastern Lands, he feels normal for the first time in his entire life. A Confidant, he realizes later when Jongdae is handing him a little loaf of bread and a small waterskin filled with Minseoks favorite juice of blackberries and pears, could be his way to feel normal. Not a friend, because Minseok doesn’t have friends, but Jongdae looks at him straight ahead, isn’t afraid to take him out into the woods and sit with him inside a hollow tree, scribbling in a notebook while Minseok is reading and it makes him feel normal. He is aware of the price he pays for this, for feeling like an ordinary boy and he knows that there is trouble waiting for him as soon as they step back behind the castles walls. But it’s not him who takes the beating.  
It is Jongdae and cruel little Minseok lets him take it without saying a word, turning his head away so he doesn’t have to watch as the Commander of his mothers guard beats the poor boy up in the grand hall where everybody can see it.  
“If it made you happy, it’s fine.”, Jongdae whispers when they are sitting side by side in the kitchen, spooning up soup into their mouths and he bumps their shoulders together in what could be a friendly move and Minseok thinks that maybe he was wrong to let this happen to Jongdae. 

 

Becoming friends with Jongdae is so utterly easy, Minseok is amazed by it, never one to have friends since his mother keeps him away from all the other children in the castle and the village. Jongdae is patient with Minseok, only shakes his head when the Prince slips back into his commanding personality and Minseok learns to open up to him slowly. So slowly it takes years for Jongdae to truly understand him, to truly understand who Minseok really is. He isn’t just a bratty Prince who gets spoiled too much, he is more a caged bird with big dreams than anything. He longs to be free, to be free of the name that was put on him the moment he took his first breath and he doesn’t want this Kingdom he doesn’t even know, has never seen. He doesn’t want to be a heir to a father he hasn’t seen in years and Jongdae stops him from talking by throwing a hand full of snow into his face, cackling as he darts away and shouts over his shoulder: “You are not a Prince here, Minseok the ordinary!”  
And Minseok was never this thankful for anything.  
He is thankful for Jongdae by his side and the way Jongdae shoves him into the snow and throws himself down on top of him, rubbing frozen water all over his face and stuffing it into his coat and shirt so Minsseok shrieks and squirms under him.  
And Minseok has long stopped the beatings Jongdae took each time they went out into the woods and he feels free when he orders his mothers Guard to stay away from his Confidant.  
He is the one to take the blame for all this, not Jongdae.  
The boy might be his only friend, but he is the best friend Minseok could have asked for. 

 

With the end of the winter comes the spring and Minseoks sixteenth birthday.  
It’s the first year he is allowed to attend the Fire Dance to honor the Living Light that provides life to them all - a generous God of fire and sun. And he watches them build the bonfires in the courtyard and on the field behind the gate, watches them raise tents and carry food out into the starting night as the first drums begin to play in the distance.  
He feels shy about his skin being on display as it is, torso naked and painted with blue and silver as a sign of his name and status. The Kings colors that are marking now his skin, glowing in the shine of candles and the fireplace in his room.  
He doesn’t have a Guard with him tonight, doesn’t need one. Because the Living Light doesn’t make a difference between nobleman, King or beggar. Tonight he is just a young boy who is becoming an adult and Minseok feels like a man as he walks out into the night with the mask of silver covering half of his face. Everybody knows who he is, but everybody will forget about it as they dance and drink and feast and Minseok feels alive, feels the pulse thrum in his veins along with the beat of the drums. They spin with the music around the bonfires, nameless, faceless, chainless and Minseok chants with them to the sound of the songs, forgets about the cage that will close behind him in the morning again.  
He doesn’t know what time means anymore, doesn’t really care anyways because there are hands wandering over his skin and his head is buzzing pleasantly with the numbing feeling of wine coursing through his body. There are lips pressing against his, sweet words whispered into his ears as the even sweeter scent of flowers clouds his senses and he lets the two girls pull him down into the bedding of furs that is made not too far away from the bonfires and he can still see the long shadows cast over their skin, flickering back and forth like a play for Minseok to decipher the meaning of. He is fascinated by it, maybe a little bit drugged by the water pipes he shared with the other boys back by the tents and he laughs as he traces figures into the soft skin of a stomach.  
He lets them touch him, paint their names into the blue and silver on his own skin, but he never questions why neither of them takes off their masks. It’s tradition, a night to be someone else in front of the God of Light and he serves the tradition as he always serves it ever since he was born. It doesn’t feel wrong when one of the girls pushes him onto his back and undoes the laces of his pants, tugs them down just enough for his arousal to come free and she lowers herself down on him, head tossed back and the gold of her mask glistening in the light of the fire. It feels good and Minseok is too far gone to care for the fact that he doesn’t know their names or faces. Their bodies are soft, their lips fit with his, their bodies move in tandem and to the rhythm of the drums beating away in the darkness of the night.  
It doesn’t feel wrong but that doesn’t mean it feels right.  
He imagines someone else to kiss him, fingers under his chin and hands on his cheeks.  
Kittenish smiles against his lips and he doesn’t understand it. He lies with the girls, lets them take the lead and his body and they take over his mind, his time and the night is filled with the sounds of it all - all around him they lie while they keep dancing by the fires, singing and chanting and screaming.  
And when the sky starts to pale and a new day breaks, Minseok rolls away from the furs, away from the girls and their intertwined bodies and slips away into the night, finding his way through the moving crowd spread out on the furs and he listens to the last song of the night slowly fade away, a high note held like a silver bell and he stops to take a deep breath and pull his mask off, letting the wind tussle his hair like the hand of a gentle lover.  
And then he hears it, the soft noise to his right, a voice he knows all too well but he has never heard moaning and he shifts, looking to where the sound is coming from and he instantly knows he shouldn’t look at this. He shouldn’t look at the broad expanse of Jongdaes back, or the way his muscles are flexing under his skin, the way his fingers grip bruises into the soft and white thighs of a woman that lies with him. He shouldn’t watch Jongdae in a situation like this, but he can’t bring himself to look away, eyes following the smooth lines of the others back to his buttocks and thighs, to his muscles shifting with each fluid roll of his hips forwards. He feels filthy watching this, but there is hot arousal curling inside of him and he swallows a lump in his throat. Minseok feels like a virgin maiden witnessing something improper even though he was bedding those girls only minutes before, but he can’t help but to curl a hand around his throat and one around his mouth to stop himself from making any sound as his mind is playing tricks on him, still drugged and drunk and filled with the hazy pleasure of the Fire Dance.  
He allows himself the briefest pleasure of imagining what it would be like to have those fingers gripping his thigh, of those hips snapping against his, to have Jongdaes face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in and marking him up with sharp teeth and an insistent tongue. He allows himself to wish for his own fingers to card through Jongdaes hair, to whisper his name in the throes of longing and lust, to kiss him and have him in his arms.  
It’s a thought he doesn’t dare to think when he is sober, but right now he is not himself, he is someone else entirely and he can easily admit to himself that he is longing for Jongdae to touch him. And he stands there, hand around his throat and mouth and doesn’t dare to breathe, holds himself as still as he can and watches and he feels like he is committing a sin.  
Nothing is a sin in the night of the Fire Dance, but still this feels wrong to Minseok.  
But he remains motionless and entranced and then Jongdae lifts his head and looks right at him, eyes meeting his straight on like they always do and Minseok shudders, takes a step back as he lets his hand fall from his mouth and a sound escapes him that could be a moan or a whisper of the others name. He doesn’t know. Jongdae is still looking at him as his eyebrows furrow and he groans, lets his head drop forward and then Minseok turns on his heel and flees, runs away from the images that have burned themselves into his eyes and mind and he is sure he can never forget again. 

 

The winter ends and Minseok hasn’t thought about life after he becomes a man. He hasn’t thought about what it means when the snow is melting away and he isn’t prepared for it when they come and take Jongdae. He forgot that Jongdae is a boy of name, that Jongdae is a man now too and that every man has to serve in the Kings army because Minseoks father is striving for power and even more power all the time. There is a Kingdom to be built and forged and men get forged by war. After the Fire Dance they barely get to speak more than two sentences before the herald arrives and reads the list of names, mothers crying out in horror in the great hall of White Hall and Jongdae has no one to cry out for him because he is all alone and he only has Minseok, who isn’t allowed to shed a single tear, isn’t allowed to bat a single eyelash at all of this. His heart is hammering in his chest as the soldiers take the boys from their mothers, take Jongdae from Minseoks side and he only feels Jongdaes fingers lingering on his arm as he parts from him, the spot where he normally stands next to the Prince empty in the span of a heartbeat.  
They don’t speak, don’t hug, but Minseok sees something else than terror on Jongdaes face as he gets pushed into the line of young men that have to serve the army now and will probably never return to White Hall because the war is cruel and Minseok has seen what it does to people and what it means when someone is taken away.  
“Mother.”, he whispers, forcing himself to look away from Jongdae and to the woman on the throne, his voice silent but pleading. “Mother they can’t take my Confidant.”  
“The King takes what the King desires.”, his mother simply says and smiles sadly as the soldiers begin to lead the boys away. “And the Kings word is law.”  
It may be law, but it doesn’t make things right and Minseok feels small and powerless and his big name and title are of no use for him in this moment when he loses his best friend to the war. There is no goodbye said between the two of them, but Minseok sees Jongdae smile at him and mouth his name and he hopes it will be alright and they will be reunited in the winter to sit in their hollow tree again.  
With Jongdae gone because he is now a man, it means that Minseok too has to become a man now and the line of endless teachers and scholars gets longer and longer and Minseok isn’t able to remember any of their names anymore.  
He feels like a piece of iron in the fires of a blacksmith, stripped down to the bone and then built up again with the steady beating of hammers and he becomes the perfect heir of the thones. He leans to negotiate, learns to rule, to fight.  
Minseok becomes the warlord his father wants him to be, a perfectly crafted statue and picture, the training and time melting away the rest of his childhood and Minseok knows that becoming an adult in the night of the Living Light doesn’t mean to become a man.  
He is a man when he learns to hold his sword and shield, when he learns to ride a horse and he becomes a man when he receives Jongdaes letter, almost a year after his friend left for the war by the Western Borders. It’s barely a letter, Minseok thinks, but it’s better than nothing and he carries those three words with him like they are a treasure he needs to protect with his life. 

I am alive. 

 

Minseok rides out alone into the Stone Forest, sits alone in the hollow tree and reads alone. He eats his bread alone and watches the sunset alone and he is still waiting for Jongdae to come back even though he has abandoned all hope to ever see him again.  
Maybe Jongdae survived the war and found a wife and married her and now he is happy in the West while Minseok is waiting to be crowned King some day. Maybe he died and Minseok will never know because Jongdae will be another faceless body in the constant flow of death that is brought upon them with the war. He still carries the letter, three words that sound like a promise to him and Minseok buries the strip of paper he got with an eagle in the hollow tree, fingers turning blue and shaking from the cold of the spring earth.  
Two nights of the Living Light have passed and Minseok has spent both of them by himself, sitting by the fire and listening to the songs and the drums. He knows what his heart truly desires and he will not grant himself something he doesn’t truly want when he isn’t sure he will never have it. To be a King means to be patient, he is taught.  
So he waits - waits in the tree, waits in the castle, waits as they finally crown him White Lord and he rules over White Hall and the Eastern Lands and the Frozen Islands of the Thunder Sea. And Jongdae isn’t there to see it and make fun of him when Minseok wears the crown of a Prince, wears a cloak so long it wipes the floor behind him.  
It’s not the same without his Confidant. He should be here with him, should be in the spot to his left and watch over him. He pledged loyalty, did he not? And still he is not there when Minseok needs him the most. 

 

Minseok is barely scraping nineteen when he meets his younger brother the Golden Lord who holds command over the most powerful army in the Waking World, they say even though he just crossed the line between child and man, only a few months younger than Minseok. He is young and pretty and smaller than Minseok, slight in built. But he is strong and he carries the aura of a man who has seen death and Minseok realizes that he himself has yet to see the war.  
Luhan has seen it, the younger Prince tells him one night by the fires of White Hall as they sit and talk, becoming brothers slowly. He has seen men die for nothing.  
He will die out there too one day, he says.  
Minseok thinks that he has already lost someone to the war although he himself never fought a battle. Luhan envies him and Minseok envies him too because if only he could go out onto the battlefield and look for Jongdae.  
They await the arrival of their third brother, the Black Lord and they are bound to sit and wait for him by playing games and testing each others abilities and Minseok is surprised to find himself an almost even match to the Golden Lord who wields his halberd like he is the God of Death himself. There isn’t much difference in their skill and Luhan says that this is because they are born to become Warlords. Minseok doesn’t have an army or a Guard yet though and he is no Warlord without one.  
“Choose one then.”, Luhan says and Minseok regards him with a thoughtful look. He has to before they ride against the Sandlands and he doesn’t have a choice, but he doesn’t feel like this is right. He should not be naming a Commander to the Guard who will be protecting him if the one he trusts the most is not by his side.  
But he has to.  
And he lets the best of his soldiers fight for this position in the grand yard, lets them show their abilities and why they deserve the spot of Commander of the White Guard.  
He watches them all, lets Luhan comment on their skill and their assets and weaknesses and he wishes that Jongdae was there. Because Luhan is his brother, but he is not his friend.  
“Is there a man”, Minseok asks aloud so the courtyard is filled by his voice. “Who claims to be better than these brave soldiers who have proven their worth to stand by my side? Is there a man among you who claims to have a right to take this position? Any of you? Or shall I name my Commander?”  
“You should.”, Luhan urges him on once more and Minseok already has his eyes trained on the face of his best swordsman, when he sees a figure standing in the back between the onlookers. He seems familiar, terribly so and Minseoks mind races and it tries to catch on and piece it together but the last time he saw Jongdae, there were no hard lines to his face.  
“I name you then.”, Minseok says and repeats it louder once more because the people in the yard shift and murmur silently among themselves. “There is only one who deserves to be the one to have power over my life.”  
He lifts his hand, hears the crowd inhale as they wait and then points straight at Jongdae, who merely archs an eyebrow at him and softly shakes his head.  
“My Confidant.”, Minseok says, brushing away any protest that is already building up in Jongdae and in Luhan as well, who is slowly rising from his chair. “Who has seen the war.”  
And Minseok knows he made a good choice when none of the soldiers protest, when there is no complaint from the fighters who tried to convince him of their worth for this position.  
Because they all have been to the war and came back and Jongdae was there the longest.  
“I already pledged to you.”, Jongdae says with a tilt of his head and Minseok studies his face slowly, just as the other man is studying him with careful eyes. “Do I have to bend my knee for you once more, or is my vow of loyalty enough for you?”  
“You swore ten years ago to never leave my side.”, Minseok only retorts and Luhan by his side shifts with a knowing look on his face, watching them intently and curiously so.  
“But you did.”  
“Did I really?”, Jongdae asks and touches the spot where his collarbone is hidden beneath his shirt and vest and coat on his own chest - the spot where Minseok tried to stab himself with a fork as a joke to see how far Jongdae would go to protect him from harm.  
And Minseok finds the faint dots of white on the back of Jongdaes hand, sees the evidence of the trust he has in this man and this man has in him as a friend, as a ruler.  
“You did.”, he insists with a small smile and Jongdae shakes his head at him and bends one knee, bowing his head although his eyes are on Minseok while he does it.  
“Then I pledge to you once more, my Prince. To be your Confidant and now Commander of your Guard. To shield you with my life, to never leave your side and to protect you until my last dying breath.”  
Minseok just looks at him from across the yard and nods. 

 

The first battle Minseok wins is not won because of his skill on the battlefield, but because he has a brilliant mind. He studies his enemies for days, collects every bit and piece of information about their army that he can get his fingers on and sits in his tent for hours, brooding over battle plans and strategies. He knows that when it comes to strength, both his brothers overshadow him, but Minseok has talents neither of them has.  
He is intelligent, knows how to come up with a plan that will get them victory. Because Minseok has learned how to think like a politician while they think like warriors and even though they both know how to win a battle, they don’t know how to win an entire war.  
He does.  
“Chop off the snakes head.”, he says to Jongdae when his Commander steps into his tent the following morning and helps him into his armor and Minseok tries to ignore how good the silver and white looks on Jongdae, how his shoulders have grown broad and how his face lost all the softness of a boy he still had when he left for the war those years ago.  
It’s been two weeks since they have been reunited and there is no time to bond anew, but when Minseok lifts his eyes and looks at his Confidant, there is still the Jongdae he knows there - just a little older, just a little harder, but his smile is still the same and the way his dark hair curls into his forehead is still the same too.  
“You have to ride, Minseok. Don’t hesitate. Not for a single heartbeat. No matter what happens, you have to fight for your own life out there.”, Jongdae tells him as he straps him into his armor, the chest piece fitting snuggly around Minseoks torso.  
“I will.”, Minseok answers him with a nod and Jongdae lifts his hand as if to touch Minseoks face, but he doesn’t. He just fixes Minseoks white cloak where it’s held together by a white brooch by his throat - two wings folded around a snowflake in silvery perfection - and then he nods and turns to leave.  
And Minseok opens his mouth to say something too, Jongdae hesitating by the open folds of the tent, but the Prince doesn’t speak a single word. And the moment passes, something passing between them unspoken. Don’t die out there.  
Because the battle will be dangerous and no matter if they are one army against one, or three against one as they are now, their enemy is cruel and terribly strong.  
The nation of Aswor rules over the Sandlands and Minseok has never been this hot in his entire life, sweat beading under his crown and trickling down his neck as he fidgets in the saddle of his war horse. Luhans army is used to the climate, but both Minseok and the Black Lord Yifan are from the East and the North and the weather there is cool and gentle, not harsh and burning as it is here and Minseok imagines that this must be what hell feels like.  
Yongnian is known for its riders, their battle horses strong and muscled and Minseok feels dwarfed on top of his own, heavily armored and snorting, sashaying from side to side as if it feels its riders uneasiness.  
Behind him his army stretches out to the far edge of the hills, riders clad in silver and white, the Crown Princes banner of a silver snowflake against the blue of a untouched sky held high between the endless rows of men and horses. He feels sweat trickle down the side of his face, his hands are sweaty in his gloves and with each movement of his horse, he feels strong muscles shift under his legs.  
In front of him lies the endless sea of spears and waiting swords, ready to cut deep into flesh and through bones, drums beating behind the horizon. He sees their archers, armed with short bows and strong arrows, their dogs held on short chains, salivating to drive their teeth into the flesh of his men. He fidgets, eyes scanning over the rows of the enemy army and searching for the Regents banner, searches for the weak spot they need to attack.  
But they are still waiting for their sign, still hidden by the rising sun behind them and the furious cries of Luhans army below them, the Golden Lord standing on the very head of the joined forces of both the Golden Legion and the Black Battalion.  
And Minseok watches in almost horror as the two armies clash, the sound of war loud and unforgiving - steel hitting steel, the smell of death filling the air, men crying out in pain and agony, the faint barking of dogs and the ever present commands of his brothers loud even over the noises of the battlefield.  
And still he waits for his sign, sword in hand and the rising sun in his back and his horse prances from side to side, unsteady and nervous and Minseok thinks that maybe in reality it’s him who is unsteady and nervous. Only the strong hand on his elbow stops him from trembling, the grip on his sword tightening and he turns his head to the side, meeting Jongdaes eyes. His Commander looks as calm as the winter sea, eyebrows drawn together and never before has Minseok seen such a serious look on his friends face.  
He looks every bit the soldier he is, mouth a grim line and a dark flame burning deep in the hazelnut brown of his eyes.  
“Ride.”, Jongdae just says and Minseok jumps when he hears the sound of a horn in the chaos of the battle beneath them. It’s loud and high and he knows its sound, knows that it is Luhans horn - their time to strike. So he lifts his sword as high as he can, feeling the sun warm his skin under the layers of linen, leather and metal and his warcry is so loud it vibrates through his entire body, echoed by thousands of voices behind him.  
Jongdaes voice is the loudest in his ears.  
The brutal strength of his rides shakes the ground as they are unleashed into action, hooves ripping out damp earth and grass, the sun in their backs shining bright and reflecting off their armory, no trace of hesitation left in any of them. This might be Minseoks first battle, but he is a child of the East, became a magnificent rider and warrior under the forming hands of hundreds of teachers. The rides collide with the side of the army in a violent clash, shields and armors breaking under the strength of horse and men and Minseoks mind reels with the force he gets shaken with, sword piercing into flesh to his left, slicing through muscles on his right, body guided with the memories of endless hours of training.  
His men strike a swath of destruction into their enemies, like a spear of sword and men thrust into the flesh of an empire and they are twisting it around, almost as if they are gutting the battle formations of Aswor, breaking it apart and just like Jongdae said, it’s like cutting off a snakes head.  
Minseok loses track of time and lives, he just fights and his heart is pounding loudly in his ears as he is lost in the noises of a war around him - the screams, the trampling hooves, the splintering of wooden shields and the breaking of bones. He smells and tastes blood, his own smell, fires burning somewhere in the distance and his skin crawls with it, his head is swimming in a red haze he doesn’t understand.  
Their onslaught against the Asworian army tilts the battle in their favor and the enemys forces are ripped into two parts, driven up the hill and back towards the Red River that marks the border and towards the hills where they have no advantage left on their side because Minseoks rides are superior.  
He is vibrating with the thrill of the bloodshed, his whole body is trembling and his muscles are cramping and he is bleeding, has lost his horse and parts of his armor and his once pristine white cloak is smeared with blood and mud.  
But the battle goes on, hour after endless hour and longer and the sun is so high in the sky Minseok feels like it’s blinding him, as if it’s burning straight into his skull and he is slowly losing focus, exhaustion clawing at his insides. He has lost his Guard, has lost Jongdae, stands alone surrounded by enemies and his heart is thundering in a sudden fit of panic as he ducks underneath the spear of a soldier, his own blade cutting clean through the wood and then through a wrist, his body throwing itself forward against them and he drives his sword through the vulnerable gap where the neckline of his leather armor is wide and low, Minseoks slender blade sliding through his skin and it sinks into his flesh with almost no resistance at all. It slices into the mans collarbone, breaking it and then Minseok is ripping it upwards, splitting the mans throat open and his sword gets caught on the mans jaw and chin, the bone stopping his movement and he stiffens, rips his sword back as he hears an agonized cry rising all around him. He stumbles back, collides with his brothers chest who wraps an arm around him to steady his swaying body, halberd held in one single, trembling hand. There is blood smeared all over them, splattered across their armory and skin, their hair damp with sweat, their faces dirtied with grime and dust and mud.  
The screaming gets louder and Minseok has the sudden desire to slap his hands over his ears, the circle he is standing in slowly expanding around him, Luhan having his back as they stand face in face with a number of men they can not defeat on their own.  
They have been carried away by the stream of people - too far into the enemys middle to call for their Guard, to call for reinforcements. They are lost.  
“Chin up.”, Luhan orders grimly, hand finding his and squeezing through his glove. “We die with honor. We have brought glory to our Kingdom.”  
There comes no attack.  
The men surrounding them are dropping their weapons, are throwing themselves into the sludge under their feet, clawing at the ground as they cry out, voices rising and falling in a bizarre song that has the hair in Minseoks neck rising.  
Luhan stirs behind him, body straightening out and Minseok wants to cry out and tell him not to lower his weapon, but it’s already too late and they are standing back to back, sword and halberd slowly lowered, eyes finding the body on the ground only a couple of feet away from them. There is a crown lying in the grime of the battle, stained red and brown and covered in filth - but it is a crown nevertheless.  
“Cut off a snakes head.”, Minseok whispers and the army around them falls apart.  
And Minseoks first battle is won on a single day - but oh, what price did he pay for his victory. 

 

The drum that is stroking a beat in the distance feels melancholic, the high voice of a Priestess sounding over the tents, the men gathered by the fires and they all stand in silence as they burn their fallen men, comrades, brothers and friends. Minseok holds his head high, eyes trained on the dancing flames as they slowly begin to undress them in front of the army, baring his flesh and wounds for all the men to see. The Princes crown is taken off his head - a symbol for everybody to see that before the Gods, all of them are the same, no matter if they are King or beggar. He keeps his eyes on the fire, lets them clean his skin from the blood and sweat, lets them paint streaks of blue and white across his arms, over his chest and even his face. The beat of the drum goes on, the singing continues, the bodies burned and their goblets are raised to honor the dead.  
Minseok can hear the victory songs they are singing in Luhans camp, can hear the celebrations of Yifans man in the distance, but his own army is silent, honoring and mourning the people they’ve lost. And Minseok stands before them not as the son of the King, but as one of them, their Prince, their Lord and the man who lead them into this battle.  
The man who ended the battle for all of them.  
And he stands alone in front of them, arms spread ever so slightly as they pass him to press paint-slick fingers to his arms and torso, red against the blue and white. For each of them a streak of blood against his skin, life where there is death. And Minseok becomes their symbol of life, of survival, of victory. Their God for the night of triumph.  
When the last drum stroke fades away into the night they all stand in the silence and the darkness, every last flame dying out, every sound dimming until there is nothing but the quiet of the night left around them. There is a shout somewhere in the dark, like a yipping sound and then someone starts the fires anew, lighting up the night with bonfires as high as the men, a roaring rising among them. After death comes life and after the honoring of the dead comes the honoring of the living. It’s an endless circle, all of them have been taught.  
Minseok pulls himself away from the Priestess, away from the dancing men who celebrate the night as they would celebrate a Fire Dance - wine, food and women.  
He wanders off into the night, into the rows of tents, still tasting blood on his tongue.  
The Prince isn’t surprised when there are hands reaching out to him from behind, isn’t surprised when he is halted in his path and someone steps up behind him, rough hands sliding down his bare arms.  
“You did well, my Prince.”, Jongdae whispers and Minseok lowers his head, lets his auburn hair fall into his eyes, shielding his face. He nods once and shifts in Jongdaes hold, pressing back closer against him and answers: “I was trained to do so.”  
“A leader isn’t made, Exalted. A leader is born.”, the Commander continues softly, as if brushing away Minseoks words, as he is brushing his thumbs over the bones in his wrists where he is curling his fingers around Minseoks hands.  
“And you make me a leader?”, Minseok asks him and turns his head ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of Jongdaes sharp jaw and chin, of the way his high cheekbones are painted with the same white and blue as Minseoks own. “Am I not a cruel child anymore?”  
“You never were.”, Jongdae answers him and he leans in a fraction closer, hesitating and perhaps giving Minseok the chance to pull away, but he doesn’t.  
They used to be the same height as children, before Jongdae outgrew him and shot up tall like a tree in the spring, but now there isn’t that much difference in their height anymore.  
It’s just enough that Minseok has to tilt his head back and to the side, hair brushing against Jongdaes neck before Minseoks lips find his chin, brushing over it with the muttered words he breathes out into the space between them.  
“Am I the leader you want to serve then, Jongdae?”  
“You are the man I want to serve, Minseok.”  
It’s the first time Jongdae ever said his name like this, no title attached, no honorific, no wall between them that separates them. Minseok is no Prince tonight, there is no crown on his head and the blood that is on their hands is making them equal.  
Jongdae doesn’t move for several minutes, thumbs rubbing over the protruding bones of Minseoks wrists, fingers more caressing than holding his arms still by his side.  
They breathe like this, alive and silent and in the dark between the tents, before Jongdae turns his head and brushes his nose over the bridge of Minseoks own, their breaths mingling, fanning out across their faces.  
“I thought about kissing you. That night.”, the taller whispers and Minseok doesn’t need to ask which night he is talking about. He knows. So he leans up, arching his back so his shoulders are dragging over Jongdaes naked chest and his behind is pushed against the other mans groin, freeing one of his hands of Jongdaes hold to curl his fingers around the tallers forearm the moment their lips connect. It’s a gentle kiss, lips overlapping lips and Minseok feels Jongdae lean closer, head tipping down and to the side so their lips are slotted against each other perfectly, the brush feather light.  
Like a spot of sunlight dancing across skin, Minseok can feel heat tingling and spreading from where Jongdaes lips are on his, from where his fingertips are grazing across his skin, up and up and up until he has reached Minseoks neck, fingers splaying out wide over his jaw and the side of his face and he can feel his muscle straining in this position, but he doesn’t want to to move. He doesn’t want to break the moment, the spell they have put over each other, the world they have created around themselves.  
“I thought about touching you, that night.”, Jongdae continues after moments of silently beating hearts, speaking against his mouth and his hand travels down over Minseoks neck again, over his collarbones and the flat of his pectoral muscles, the strong expanse of his stomach until it comes to a rest right on top of Minseoks waistband. “But you were nothing but a boy back then.”  
“I wanted you to touch me.”, Minseok says, almost too loud and Jongdaes fingers flex on his skin, dipping just beneath the string of his pants, grazing over his suddenly hot skin like a gentle breeze. “I wanted you to touch me like you touched this woman.”  
The admission is soft and barely there, but they both know what happened that night and Minseok knows that neither of them has forgotten how their eyes locked the moment Jongdae noticed him standing there, the full-body shudder of his release wracking through him as if Minseoks presence and sight alone were the reason he got pushed over the edge.  
It’s been years since then and they never talked about any of those events, but it’s hanging between them now, like it’s dangling in the space between their mouths and souls by a silver string.  
“I still want you to.”, Minseok then mutters, voice barely audible over the noises of the camp behind them, the drums and the singing and the cheering of the victorious men.  
Jongdae doesn’t answer, just groans and their mouths connect once more, pressing against each other so urgently, Minseok thinks that the blood he can taste on his tongue now is surely his own, drawn from the teeth that bite into his bottom lip and drag over the sensitive flesh, hands pressing against his body and pulling him back against a hard chest and stomach - against Jongdaes pelvis that is bucking forward against the subtle swell of Minseoks ass beneath linen pants.  
“Come.”, Jongdae urges him when they break apart again, mouths hovering so close, Minseok feels him speak, more than he hears him. “This way.”  
Their hands intertwine as if they were made to fold into each other, fingers fitting into the gaps between, Minseoks smaller palm flat against Jongdaes. They weave their way into the rows of tents, towards the back of the camp where Minseoks tent towers high over them all, white against the dark blue backdrop of the night.  
The folds open easily for the both of them, swinging shut behind them with whispered noises as they step inside, apart from each other and their hands slip away, hold breaking.  
Minseok knows he is no Prince tonight and even if he were, it wouldn’t matter. This is Jongdae, his Confidant, his Commander, the one he trusts more than any other man on this world or the next. He stands there, in nothing but his linen pants, leather boots reaching up high to his knees and he feels like a simple man standing in front of God himself.  
Against the light of the fires outside, Jongdae is nothing but a black shadow, illuminated by only the little lighting they have. There are shadows dancing across his skin, over the paint, dipping into the valleys of his muscles, accentuating them even more and Minseok feels his tongue go heavy, his mouth feeling dry and parched.  
So they stand, looking at each other before Minseok takes a small breath and brings his hands up to open the drawstrings of his pants, Jongdaes eyes following the movements of his hands with sudden hunger burning in their hazelnut depths. Minseok trembles, fingers slipping over the laces as he pulls them out of the grommets and letting them fall away so the front of his pants is open and the waistband is slipping low over his hips.  
Jongdae makes a silent sound, strangled and nearly pained and takes a step forward, hands already reaching out to touch Minseok before he hesitates and his eyes flicker up from where they were following the small strip of auburn hair trail leading down from Minseoks navel and into his pants.  
And Minseok only nods, letting his arms fall to his sides and his pants slip even lower on his waist, nearly exposing him to the warm air in the tent and Jongdae is in front of him, towering over him even though there really isn’t much difference between them. It’s only an inch or maybe two, but in this moment Jongdae seems so tall, Minseok has to tilt his head back to look at him, eyes scanning over his face. He takes in the way the others eyebrows are knitted together above his eyes, dark in color and burning with desire, how his high cheekbones are dusted with only the hint of crimson, how the cat-like corners of his lips are pulled down as if he is frowning.  
It’s a look of utter concentration, of lust and hunger and Minseok nearly expects Jongdae to just grab him and push him backwards, to have his way with him, but he does nothing of that. Instead he brings his hands up, smoothes them over the sides of Minseoks face, fingertips tracing the shapes of his round cheeks, of the subtle bow of his lips, thumb dipping into Minseoks mouth just briefly before Jongdae lets his hands brush lower and lower still, over his shoulders and collarbones, mapping Minseok out with gentle touches and only feather light brushes of his fingers. When he bends down, Minseok cranes his neck upwards, expecting a kiss, but Jongdae doesn’t connect their lips, just kisses his cheek, brushes his lips over Minseoks round cheeks and over his jaw, peppering small pecks over the side of his neck and over the sensitive skin right under his ear.  
He does it slowly, hands traveling down Minseoks stomach while he seems to memorize Minseoks body with his lips alone, dropping to his knees when he has littered the Princes chest with kisses and gentle bites, leaving the faintest of red marks in his wake.  
He mouths over Minseoks sternum, over his slightly visible muscles, down to his navel where he dips his tongue inside only briefly, continuing lower while his hands slowly start to unlace Minseoks boots, opening the strings one by one and then helping him to step out of them without even lifting his head away from where he is sucking marks into Minseoks hips and the dip of his waist.  
There is no sound in the tent but the rustling of Minseoks boots and pants coming off and he stands naked in front of Jongdae like he never has before, bare and face burning, but it’s not embarrassment, that makes his cheeks flare up hot and red.  
It’s arousal, hot and liquid in his veins as it curls in his stomach - and all because of the way Jongdae is looking up at him with clouded eyes, sat back on his haunches with his hands resting on his own lap, all the tension gone from his body.  
He stares up at Minseok reverently, like Minseok is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, eyes wide and his mouth slightly open and Minseok starts shivering under the intensity of his gaze, moves to cover himself when Jongdae suddenly moves too, stopping his hands and grabbing his wrists, looking up at him.  
“Don’t.”, Jongdae rasps out and Minseok is amazed by the shiver that races down his spine, the arousal in his belly curling and his cock twitching at how aroused Jongdae sounds from just this. From just undressing him. From touching him.  
“When I saw you that night, you were nothing but a soft little boy.”, Jongdae starts talking, slowly and carefully letting go of Minseoks wrists and smoothing his palms over the expanse of his thighs, making Minseok widen his stance. He keeps his eyes on the path his hands paint against Minseoks skin, as if he is painting with his fingers, not looking up at Minseok even though he is speaking, not missing a single spot that has the Prince standing above him sighing and biting back moans that start to burn in his throat, urging him to let them out.  
When he finds a particularly sensitive spot, he even bends forward and plants a gentle kiss against the skin there, sucking a patch into his mouth and dragging his teeth along it, parting from Minseoks body with a wet sound before he continues speaking as if he was merely taking a stroll in the afternoon instead of taking Minseok apart with just this.  
“Always such a beautiful boy.”, he mutters, still tracing figures into Minseoks thighs before he tilts his body forward again and mouths along the crease of his pelvis, over the swell of muscles there before he brushes the side of his face against Minseoks arousal, almost as if he is caressing him and Minseok bites down on his bottom lip with a groan, hands flying up to rest on Jongdaes shoulders, who finally looks up at him with a grin playing around the edges of his lips. “But look at you know. My warrior Prince. Even more beautiful than I imagined you to be.”  
He makes to move forward again, opening his mouth as if he wants to swallow Minseok down but before his lips can close around the head of Minseoks member, he stops him, digs the heels of his hands into Jongdaes shoulders and his Commander looks up at him with uncertainty and confusion written all over his face.  
“Kiss me.”, Minseok commands him and Jongdae stands up readily, cradles his face between his palms and kisses him, mouths slotting together easily and so naturally, it makes Minseoks chest ache. He isn’t nearly as subtle as Jongdae is, hands hasty in their quest of untying Jongdaes pants and shoving them down over narrow hips, letting them pool over his ankles and whining when he notices that Jongdae makes no move to step out of them.  
It’s like he is drunk, like he is living through another night of the Fire dance, his whole body thrumming with need - but this is a different kind of need, it’s not urgent or rushed no matter how hard Minseok tries to get Jongdaes body against his own.  
Because although he is all but yearning to finally feel skin against skin, they keep their kiss slow, languid strokes of tongue against tongue and Jongdae takes his time to explore Minseoks mouth, tongue brushing over the back of his teeth and over the underside of Minseoks tongue. The kiss burns him up from the inside, more taunting than the wandering hands across his skin and he moans, tries to get closer and closer still, hands buried in Jongdaes hair and tugging so hard he is sure he is hurting the other man, but Jongdae doesn’t make a sound, no complaint. He just keeps kissing him until Minseok is breathless and his head is spinning like it did on the battlefield.  
Jongdaes skin feels silky under his palms when he slides them down his neck and over his back, their bodies flush against each other, chest to chest and abdomen against abdomen and Minseok can feel the press of Jongdaes erection against his stomach, almost directly next to his own and he turns his hips, trying to brush their aching arousals together, but Jongdae stops him and breaks away, wandering hands coming to a halt on Minseoks lower back, almost on his ass.  
“Minseok-”, he starts, but the Prince won’t let him speak, tip-toeing to press their lips together once more, tugging Jongdae forwards so they stand next to Minseoks bed. It’s a simple bed, the mattress made of straw and covered with several layers of thick furs.  
Barely fit for a Crown Prince, but it’s more than any of the soldiers have in the camp and it’s comfortable under Minseok when he slowly sits down and scoots backwards, eyes kept on Jongdaes face while he does it. He wants to let his eyes wander down, take in all of Jongdaes glorious body, but right now he just wants to see the expression on his face, wants to see every little emotion flickering in his eyes as he lies back against the furs and the mattress, letting his body relax on the bedding.  
“You say I am a beautiful man.”, he says silently, trailing one of his hands down his own chest until he has reached his hip, his own fingertips brushing over the head of his cock and he moans, lets his legs fall open and hears Jongdae suck in a harsh breath.  
“But I have longed to touch you for years now.”, he adds and Jongdae quickly climbs into bed with him, sitting in the wide V of his legs and grabs both his wrists to press them into the bed on either side of Minseoks head, foreheads touching as he bends over and covers his Princes body with his own, the only spots where they are touching their hands and faces.  
“Don’t talk about it.”, Jongdae breathes, voice cracking and there is almost no arousal left in it, only sadness and Minseoks heart feels like it might break under the force of his emotions.  
“I don’t want to hear about how long I had to wait to finally have you in my arms.”  
Minseok remembers what it felt like to watch Jongdae leave for war, what it felt like to think they might never see each other again - and how it felt like to think that he will never have the chance to kiss Jongdae in his entire life.  
So he takes every little kiss he can now, takes his time tasting Jongdae in his mouth instead of the constant taste of blood that lingers on his tongue. He replaces those things with memories of Jongdaes body over his, how it feels to have Jongdaes calloused hands traveling over his body, how nervous Jongdae is when he fumbles with the flask of scented oil Minseok normally uses for his skin.  
It’s not Minseoks first time, but it is his first time with a man and it is his first time with Jongdae and the nerves get the better of him when Jongdae finally sinks the first finger into his body and looks up at him from where he is nestled between the smaller mans legs, mouth hovering dangerously close over Minseoks cock - so close indeed, the Prince can feel the others breath on his overheated skin with each exhale.  
“Does it hurt?”, Jongdae asks and Minseok shakes his head, curls his fingers into the furs under his body and keeps still, blinks as he takes a stuttering breath. Jongdae furrows his eyebrows and opens his mouth, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes flicker from Minseoks face to where he has his finger buried inside his body, drawing it out and pushing it in again, curling it once before he pushes another in. It’s too fast, Minseok thinks as he moans in pain even though there is still lust coursing through his body in waves.  
He thinks that he will never be able to enjoy something like this, the intrusion foreign and strange after all those times he laid with women, but for Jongdae he will do it.  
He breathes through it, tries to relax like Jongdae is whispering into his thigh, but then he gasps around a yelp, eyes flying open and head shooting up from the bed to look down at Jongdae, eyes wide and pupils dilating as he watches how his arousal sinks past the others lips and into the wet hot pressure of his mouth.  
Minseok gets something out that sounds like Jongdaes name - some garbled version of it at least - and lets his head drop back again, forgets about the stretch of his entrance for a moment before he feels those fingers inside him move again, hooking and spreading apart and then he screams, hands covering his mouth a moment too late.  
White hot pleasure shoots through him and he thrashes, pushes himself too deep into Jongdaes throat and he hears the other gag, but he doesn’t move away. He keeps both his fingers and his mouth where they are and Minseok sobs brokenly.  
The tears that are spilling from his eyes are from both pleasure and pain at once, but finally something feels right for him and he almost thinks he might come down Jongdaes throat before the Commander suddenly stops and pulls away, his fingers slipping from Minseoks entrance with an obscene squelch of oil and skin and Minseok blushes dark crimson at it.  
“Normally…”, Jongdae starts almost conversationally, even though his voice keeps the reverent tone, pouring more oil onto his palm and slicking himself up while Minseok tries to catch his breath, a boneless mess on the furs, panting and sweaty.  
“Normally I make them turn onto their stomachs.”, the commander keeps talking and Minseok opens his eyes to look at him, teeth biting hard into his bottom lip. Jongdae meets his eyes and Minseok thinks that nothing has changed between them, despite the fact that Jongdae is slowly scooting forward and propping Minseoks hips up with his free hand, the other lining himself up at Minseoks stretched entrance. “So I can imagine they are you.”  
Minseok opens his mouth to say something, to answer Jongdae, but there is nothing coming out of him but a moan, his feelings crushing over him like a tidal wave as Jongdae pushes in in time with his words.  
Pain flares up Minseoks spine, he squeezes his eyes shut and curses low under his breath, hands balling into fists on either side of his body. He whines, his whole body seizing up, the flames in his gut flaring hotter with each inch Jongdae pushes into him.  
His Commander is unyielding, halting and withdrawing only a tiny bit before pushing back in and he keeps up this rocking motion that moves Minseoks body with his until he is seated completely in the smaller mans body, hands gripping hard onto Minseoks hips, his breathing labored and hot against Minseoks knee where it is propped up against Jongdaes side.  
Minseok tries to wrestle down the pain, blindly reaching out for Jongdae, his fingers sliding over the sweat and paint of the tallers upper arms, fingernails scratching over the soft skin covering hard biceps muscles.  
Jongdae breathes out what could be Minseoks name, reverently so and he sounds so amazed that Minseok can’t help but to open his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes and Jongdae reaches out for him, fingertips grazing over the corners of Minseoks almond eyes.  
He leans into the touch, keeps his gaze on Jongdaes face, all pain forgotten when his mind registers what he is seeing. There, between his spread legs, Minseoks quivering thighs pressed hard against his ribcage, Jongdae sits as if he is praying, weight resting on his calves. His body is covered in blue and red paint, beads of sweat rolling over the side of his neck and his hair is already plastered against his nape and forehead by perspiration.  
But it’s not the way his muscles are straining, or how his arms and torso tremble with the force he uses to keep himself still, it’s this look on his face that has Minseoks breath hitching in his throat. He feels breathless, like someone punched him in the chest as he keeps his eyes on Jongdaes. It’s the look from that night all those years ago, disbelieving and awestruck, his mouth dropped open slightly and his lips are rosy and slicked with spit.  
Minseok feels like he should be scared by the image Jongdae paints in front of him - oh how did this soft, mischievous boy melt away into a grim warrior, brought to his knees in front of Minseok now - and he realizes that he has never seen Jongdae this vulnerable.  
Not when the other was taking a beating for what he did for Minseok, not when they took him to war, certain death waiting for him. His life was always in someone elses hand and it’s now too, Minseok thinks as he lifts a hand and pushes himself up ever so slightly, so he can slide his hand into Jongdaes nape and pull him down into a soft lip-lock that seems so strangely innocent compared to their earlier kisses and the way their bodies are joined now.  
He knows that there is still pain lingering inside of him and that his arousal has been dimmed by the intrusion into his body, but he knows he can take this. For Jongdae. Because he holds Jongdaes life in his hands, will probably always hold Jongdaes life like this.  
And he wants to give something back, wants the other man to know that, yes, he might belong to Minseok, but Minseok belongs to him too, even though he never said it and can never say it out loud. Not when he is not the crowned King yet and has an Empire to inherit one day. He can’t say he is Jongdaes just yet.  
So he simply sweeps his tongue over the bow of Jongdaes lower lip, licks into his mouth as he curls his fingers into the others silky black hair, moving his hips in a testing push backwards and up, pressing his ass against the flat of Jongdaes pelvis and he hears the other gasp into their kiss, feels his body tip forward until he is bracing himself on his forearms on each side of Minseoks head, boxing him in. Their stomachs brush against each other and Minseok moans at the touch of hot skin against his half hard cock.  
The first testing thrust forward has Minseok biting down on Jongdaes tongue, drawing blood but Jongdae doesn’t seem to mind as he keeps the rolling of his hips, his hands carding through Minseoks soft auburn hair as he keeps kissing him, tongues curling around each other. And Minseok thinks that he can actually enjoy this feeling, having Jongdae against his body without any barrier between them, his arms wound tightly around the others torso to keep him close, bury his face in Jongdaes shoulder when the other man grips his thigh so tightly, Minseok knows he will have bruises tomorrow.  
He doesn’t entirely enjoy the feeling of being so full he feels like he is about to burst, but he discovers that the sensation of having Jongdae inside of him, the drag of Jongdaes flesh against his sensitive insides and the stretched skin of his entrance spikes little flashes of light up and down his spine. But he doesn’t know if he enjoys the gentle rocking more than he does the harder thrusts that have Jongdae groaning in the back of his throat, that have his hands tightening on Minseoks body and his forehead pressing against the side of his neck. Their bodies are moving in tandem after a while, Minseok letting his hips gyrate against Jongdaes to meet his rhythm, mouths meeting in breathless kisses, lips open and barely brushing against each other as they lose themselves in each other, eyes holding eyes, fingers finding fingers. This was a long time coming, long overdue if someone were to ask Minseok. Jongdae falls apart first, hips losing their rhythm, thrusts becoming sloppy and urgent and Minseok whispers into his ear that it’s okay, that he should let go, that he has him, that he belongs to him - and Jongdae all but clings to him when he comes, moaning lowly into the side of Minseoks neck and lips blindly searching for the Princes when Minseok feels him pulse inside of him, hot come rushing into his body and making him gasp, whine even. He expects Jongdae to still, to pull away, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hips moving, deep grinds against Minseoks ass and reaches between them to curl his fingers around Minseoks arousal, flushed red and leaking precome where it’s trapped in the heat in between their bodies. Minseok twitches, his whole body jerking at the sudden touch of rough skin against his sensitive member, but he can’t help but to cover his own mouth with his hand, moaning in abandon as Jongdae starts stroking him with a strong hand.  
And Minseok is wound so tightly, worked up with years of waiting for Jongdae, with memories of the Fire Dance and the feeling of being alive after the battle, that it doesn’t take longer than a minute before he is coming in a blinding rush, back bowing off the bed and nails drawing down Jongdaes arms, leaving bloody trails in their wake, his head tossed back and his mouth open in a silent scream.  
When he curls up against Jongdaes chest and tries to slow down his heart, tries to find words to say, Jongdae just wraps an arm around him and shakes his head against Minseoks, nose brushing against his and lips touching faintly.  
And he knows that tomorrow the world will be different, tomorrow there will be another war to fight, another land to conquer, another enemy to be defeated. There will be other Princes joining the ever turning wheel and one day Minseok will wear the crown.  
But for now, tonight, he is no one and nothing else but Jongdaes. So tomorrow can come with all its uncertainties, with all its what-ifs and Minseok will be brave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn this took me ages! I am so sorry to keep you guys waiting.... I am eternally grateful for all the comments I got although it wasn't much, it still made my day! So this chapter isn't exactly satisfying for me, but I had to work around a writers block so I hope y'all can forgive me for slacking. In this chapter you will notice a few things overlapping with "Candle in the night" and some other things won't make much sense to you guys since this is only one small part of the bigger series! If you want to listen to "light of the seven" (game of thrones soundtrack) while reading. It inspired me so so much! Thank you to those who take the time reading this, to those leaving kudos and to those who leave comments. I love you all and hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did while crafting it!

Children should not be born into a world where daggers are waiting to slit their throats.  
They should not be slaughtered in their cribs or their mothers arms before they can even take their first breath in this world.  
But Minseok feels like he is wading through a sea of blood, infants killed by the hands of the man who should be their guardian, the one to love them.  
He knows he is bitter that his father never looks at him, no matter how big a war Minseok wins in the old mans name. His father won’t look at him even once, has no spare word of praise- no gentle affection from that man, who should be proud of him.  
Minseok has fought so many battles, he has lost count of them, has long stopped seeing the faces of the men he killed on the battlefield when he closes his eyes at night.  
And eventually he stops seeking approval from the King, becomes his own man and he stops fighting to bring his father more power - he is fighting for his own Kingdom.  
But he doesn’t have a reason to fight. Not anymore, when there is no purpose, no mission.

And he wishes, he would have never prayed for one at night, when he starts crossing the names of his unborn brothers or sisters off a list his brother Luhan has send him after he got sent back to Sun’s Keep.  
Seven children slaughtered by the hands of their own fathers men before the wet nurses could even wrap them into blankets and hand them to their mothers.  
Five children poisoned on the days of their mid-age celebration, their food sent to kill them.  
Three of his brothers lost in the war, captured and beheaded by the Gullen nation to make an example. There were no crowns on their heads, they were so young. Neither of them older than seventeen summers.  
They whisper in the streets that the King has gone mad, that he is talking to himself and that servants can hear whispering voices in his chambers at night. And Minseok doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to believe that the man who fathered him, is losing his mind. He shakes his head, brushes his brothers words away with a wave of his hand and turns his head when someone tries to talk to him about it. The old man is still their father, is still the King they serve and if there is one thing Minseok was taught all his life, it is loyalty.  
Loyalty is the only thing that makes a difference in a world like this, his mother always tells him and her smile is gentle but sad when she brushes his hair out of his eyes the day she leaves for Silver Haven to return to her Kings side as he requested.  
Minseok doesn’t know it’s the last time he sees his mother. He stands on the battlement and watches her carriage disappear between the trees of the Stone Forest, growing smaller and smaller against the white of the snow, wrapped into a cloak of furs and he counts his heartbeats until he can’t see the small procession anymore. Sixty three, sixty four.  
“You can’t ignore this anymore, Minseok.”, Jongdae says to him by the fire that night, holding out a letter to him, sealed with golden wax. “Think of your people.”  
Minseok takes the letter with hesitant fingers, smoothes it out on his lap and looks down at Luhans signet. He remembers how the ring glints on the younger Princes finger, how it seems to be so much bigger than the mans entire hand, how it weighs him down almost as much as Minseoks own signet does. It hangs around his neck heavy and hard, the silver chain straining with his movements and Minseok lifts his hand to pull it away from his skin, let it drop against his chest.  
“Minseok.”, Jongdae says again, a little bit more urgent and Minseok looks up at him, eyes uncertain and filled with fear. He knows what this means. If he says yes now, if he allows this to become reality, he has to face the consequences of it all.  
People are starving, they are dying, they are screaming for mercy all over the land and Minseok is powerless against it all. There is only so much a Prince can do compared to the power a King holds and Minseok might be the one to inherit the crown, he is still not the one who is wearing it. He is not King yet. He is no one, just a boy from the East, living dreams between Stone Trees and hiding away from responsibilities as he rides into another war.  
“Jongdae.”, he whispers and his Commander cocks his head to the side, waiting. His hair falls smooth into his eyes, curling at the tips and brushing over his eyebrows and Minseok wants to comb his fingers through it, push it away from Jongdaes forehead.  
“If we ride against Silver Haven, it will be war within. Against our own people… against my father. I can not ride against him. I can not fight against the man who rules us all.”, he confesses silently and Jongdae leans forward, scoots a little closer over the fur rug and grabs Minseoks upper arm, fingers digging into his hard muscles as he pulls him closer only a fraction.

“You can.”, he mutters, keeping his eyes on Minseoks while he speaks. “You have to, Minseok. For your people, for your own Kingdom. You can win this. You can end this.”  
Minseok knows that Jongdae isn’t only talking about taking over the throne. He is talking about all those endless wars, about the fighting, about the dying. And Minseok knows that he could be the one to be a better King, the one to bring peace to a nation who has lived a life of war for as long as Minseok remembers.  
“It’s time you wear that crown.”, the Commander tells him quietly, his voice faint like the cracking of the wood in the flames next to them. “Minseok.”  
Jongdae always says his name like this, like it’s a prayer or the name of God himself and Minseok breathes in deeply, rips open the letter and reads. And as the flames eat away the thin paper, melting golden wax and erase the words written in red ink, Minseok knows that yes, this is the time to take his throne.  
Because his brother Sehun can not be the next one to die.  
But the decision is hard, pressed into his chest like a stone and he throws himself at Jongdae after he has decided in silence for himself, molding their lips together and wrapping his arms tightly around the other mans neck, pushing close and closer still until he imagines that there is nothing separating them anymore. That night he rides Jongdae by the fire like he would ride into battle, fur rug rubbing his knees raw as he moves steadily, one hand on Jongdaes chest to steady himself and the other ripping red welts into his Commanders thigh, drawing blood as he undulates in the others lap, head thrown back and eyes closed tightly. He tries to forget what tomorrow might bring, what he will do when the sun will rise and he uses Jongdaes fingers between his as an anchor, holding him down to his old reality.  
Tomorrow changes everything.

 

The Kingdom of Yongnian is wide, spanning from one side of a continent to the next and when Minseok swings a leg over his saddle and mounts his horse, he sees nothing but a sea of spears and armor, of horses and men and the banners of his brothers.  
Could he cover the land from one side to the other with men? Could he build an army so big, their arrows would black out the sun? Would such an army be enough to defeat his fathers forces? He sees them waiting already, row after row of loyal soldiers in their Kings mission to stop his traitorous sons from taking over the capital - but is this Kingdom really his? Did he not hand over all his duties to his sons, all his armies, all his power?  
What is the old King but a man waiting for death on a throne? Minseok watches the armies collide in front of the city, hears the screams and the chaos like it’s his first time riding into battle all over again. He sits there with his sword clutched tightly in his hand and waits, waits for their forces to win the upper hand. He sees Chanyeols red banner rise high on the northern wall, hears the horn blow in victory over the battalion that guards the North gate of Silver Haven, but he still waits. He knows that his father is old but the man is no fool and there will be more to come than just one army to stop them. He waits for Yifan - for the Black Lord to break down the main gate and flood the streets with the sheer number of his men.  
He waits for Sehun to guide Luhan up onto the wall, waits for his brothers voice to rise loud over the city that lies silently behind the walls.  
Is it not true, he asks himself while he sits there and watches rivers of blood unleashed on the field, watches the Kings banner fall to the floor as his soldiers turn their backs on him because what Luhan says is nothing but the cruel truth.  
Did the King not forget his own kin? Did he not reach out for more and more land, did he not rip sons out of their mothers arms, forcing swords into their hands when they were nothing but unknowing children? Are there not people starving in the streets of his own capital city while he sits in his palace, protected from all dangers?  
Rise, people of Silver Haven! Rise, people of Yongnian! Take back what’s yours, take back your right to be alive! Break those chains the old King has strapped you down with! You are the people, you are the nation! You are Yongnian! Rise! Rise and welcome the new King! Take back the power! Take back your city!  
And Luhans words are igniting a different kind of fire in the streets and Minseok hears them rising in rage, breaking free. It feels like there is a flame flickering high and bright under his skin as he watches the city light up with the very fire of a revolution, hears them scream out in anger and agony and he knows the end is near. The ride into the city comes without any resistance - all streets cleared and opened wide only for him, the new King.  
They welcome him with bowed heads and shouts of his name, hands reaching to touch him, to beg for his mercy, for him to be a better ruler than the man who calls himself his father.  
And as Minseok rides through the streets protected by only his Guard and the trust in the love of his people, he looks up towards the sky, where the Crown Hold is black against the horizon and he asks himself, what it must feel like to stand up there and watch a Kingdom burn. He asks himself if his father is scared, if he even cares at all, if he really is as mad as they say. Does he know what is happening? Does he know that Minseok is coming to kill him? And Minseok can’t imagine what it feels like to know that the ones you trust have betrayed you, that the ones who should be protecting you from any danger, are the ones to strike you down in the end. And he prays to all the Gods that he will never know this kind of fear.

 

Crown Hold, home of Kings and Queens, the forge of this Empire.  
The towers are so high, they block out the sun and Minseok feels dwarfed, like a child, when he walks up the endless flight of stairs that lead up to the gates of the castle. There are no Guards standing by the gate, no servants in the halls and it almost feels wrong to stride down those endless corridors in his armor, the sounds of boots and metall so loud they echo all around them. Minseok doesn’t look back, doesn’t look around, keeps his eyes trained on the way in front of him because he knows, if he stops now, he won’t go any further. He would stop walking, would turn around and leave- because he doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to be the one to put an end to all of this, to put an end to a life so important.  
But he has to.  
“You have to.”, Jongdae whispers into his ear when they reach the final door separating Minseok from his destiny. “To bring peace to us all.”  
“I will go in there alone.”, Minseok gives him as an answer, turning his head ever so slightly to look at the man who is always by his side, never lets him down. And the look on Jongdaes face tells Minseok, that he would rather die than leave Minseok, that he would rather chop off his own hand than the leave his Prince in a moment like this.  
“I have to do this alone, Jongdae.”, Minseok says and he is surprised by how strong his own voice sounds to his ears. The Guard shifts behind them, eyes flickering back and forth between their Commander and their future King as they stare each other down, Minseoks hand already resting on the polished and artfully carved wood of the door in front of them.  
“Let me do this alone. Please.”  
And Jongdae takes a step back, wordlessly, silently and Minseok knows that Jongdae will grant him this wish. To face his father alone, to face his destiny alone.

So he pushes open the door, takes a deep breath and enters the throne room, no weapon in hand. He is prepared for this, he is ready. But there is still no Kings Guard waiting for him, not a single soul inside the giant hall, except of the lone figure standing underneath the high window behind the throne, back turned towards the door.  
And there is this air surrounding this lonely man, who has his back turned to the door, to the danger and the threat that Minseok himself is to him - the air only a King can carry.  
He is so calm, still so superior even though he knows that he will die and he is facing this alone, just as Minseok is. And the Prince stops walking then, lets the door swing shut behind him and takes a look around, looks at the bodies lining the path to the throne like the twisted version of a court waiting for their King to speak.  
There is blood spreading over the white and black of the marble under Minseoks boots, tinting golden tessellations a faint rose color. How many throats have been slit for this picture, Minseok asks himself as he takes one step forward, walks up this horrible path of death and he thinks that maybe this is just another display of his fathers power. Kill them all so they won’t serve my son.  
“Minseok.”, his father suddenly says and Minseok looks up to face him, ripping his eyes and thoughts away from the body of a young servant maiden, not older than fifteen years, her blond braids soaked with blood, eyes wide open in horror and shock. “So you finally come visit me, your old father.”  
“No.”, Minseok answers, his voice like steel and his father doesn’t even turn to look at him. “I have come to finally kill you, my King.”  
“I see.”, comes the silent answer and Minseok grits his teeth, balls his fists and takes yet another step forward as his father continues speaking. “You have become a fine man, haven’t you? Such a fit heir for my throne. So young, so full of life. And looking so much like your mother.”  
“Look at me, father.”, Minseok says, fingers finding the hilt of his sword. “Look at me only once! Face me! Will you ever look at me and truly see me, father? After all those years and all those wars I fought for you? Can’t you face me even now?”  
And the old King laughs silently, almost sadly so and slowly turns around, smiling down at Minseok from behind his throne, sunlight shining down onto his head and illuminating the golden crown resting on his gray hair. Minseok looks nothing like his father, he was told so many times. He looks like his mother, has her eyes, her smile, her nose.  
But there he stands, face to face with the King and he thinks that maybe there is something resembling him too. The way he tilts his head, the way he smiles - so gentle and warm and open. As if Minseok isn’t here to kill him after all. As if he isn’t holding his mothers head between his arms, caressing her long auburn hair with the back of his hand like some would pet a cat.  
“I am looking at you, son.”, the King says casually, but Minseok barely hears him speak at all. His head is buzzing, his ears are ringing and his stomach is twisting as he watches how crimson blood drips over his fathers hand and down over his arms and pristine robes.  
“I have always looked at you. And I watched you grow up into such a fine young man. What a shame.”  
He can’t even answer the old man, is frozen in place, staring at the head of his mother, her once so beautiful face covered in bruises and beginning dereliction. His tongue feels like it’s too big for his mouth, there is bile rising in his throat and he burns - burns so hot with anger it makes his body tremble, his fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword.  
“She-”, he starts, swallowing down the need to scream and he forces himself to look away from his mothers face to his fathers. And the old man looks detached, almost as if he isn’t even aware that he is holding a severed head like it’s the most treasured thing to him.

“She had nothing to do with any of this.”, Minseok whispers and the King shakes his head, cards his fingers through silky hair and answers: “Did she not give birth to a traitor?”  
“You made me this traitor, father.”, Minseok spits back and finally draws his sword. And as if the motion alone was what it took to rip the King out of the world he has build inside his head, he suddenly moves too, dropping the head of Minseoks mother to the floor and taking a step forward, anger twisting his face.  
“I brought you into this world, made you heir to the throne, made you a Prince, a Warlord, a ruler!”, he screams and his voice breaks in the middle of his words, high pitched and twisted and Minseok thinks that, yes, this man is mad. Truly and utterly mad. “And now I am the one who made you a traitor?! You are nothing but rats feasting off what falls from my table- all of you! Striving for power, licking your fingers and lips for the crown and my Kingdom and just waiting for me to die! I should have slaughtered you all the moment you were born!”  
“We are your sons!”, Minseok screams right back and he doesn’t even notice he is backing away from his screaming father, who seems to be spitting words like venom, until the heel of his boot steps on something soft and wet.  
And he sobs around a gagging noise when he looks down, surrounded by nothing but death and he imagines this to be a nightmare, something he will wake up from any moment.  
This can not be real. This can not be the reality his father created for them now.  
If he just closes his eyes tight enough, if he just wishes hard enough-  
“What good are my sons to me, when all the wish for me is death?”, he hears his father whisper and warm breath hits his face, stinking of madness and blood. But he can’t open his eyes, he can’t look at this man, can’t look at what his life has become now. “I should have killed you all, just like I killed all those women who gave birth to you filthy traitors.”  
The sword is useless in his hands, his fingers shaking and limp and Minseok thinks that maybe this was a mistake. When did he think he would ever be strong enough to strike his father down? He is nothing but a child, a caged bird who had his wings clipped before he was ever able to fly.  
“You are nothing but a disappointment to my legacy.”, the King whispers and then falls silent and Minseok trembles where he stands, tears running down his face when he imagines the last moments of his mothers life - killed like all the others by the man they all trusted with their lives, the man they all served until their last moments in the Waking World.  
And the silence is stretching in the throne room, stretching until it feels like it is filling up the entire world and Minseok breathes in, tastes blood on his tongue and feels the madness seep under his skin like warm water that is sticking to his bones.  
“You can’t even look at me now, little boy.”, the King continues and there is a hand caressing the side of Minseoks face, still clammy with his mothers blood. He wishes his father would talk about her, would make Minseok angry so he would have a reason to do it, to raise this sword and kill this man, but he isn’t strong enough. He can’t.  
“You have to.”, comes the Kings voice again, gentle so. “My son. You have to.”  
You have to.

A scream tears itself free from Minseoks throat at that, the words echoing around inside his head, the voice of his father drowned in the voice of someone else - someone who trusts him to do this, someone who is counting on Minseok to be strong, to be brave, to be the man they all see in him. What would Jongdae say if he ever saw Minseok cowering away from an old man?  
The noise he makes is almost inhuman, loud and bellowing and it breaks the silence, breaks the spell Minseok was under and he shoves his father away the moment he opens his eyes, watching the old man stumble back and trip over one of the dead servants, falling backwards onto the stairs where he lands in a puddle of blood and slips on the marble.  
Is this his mothers blood?  
He doesn’t know if he really wants to know the answer, but he knows that one of these bodies surrounding him is the one who gave birth to him, the one he laid next to at night when he had nightmares. And the anger finally comes, the realisation finally comes.  
It’s his duty, his destiny, his birthright.  
“You have sworn an oath, father.”, Minseok grits out, gripping his sword a little bit tighter and he watches with grim joy as his father starts crawling away from him, the madness on his face slipping into fear and anger and something achingly close to panic. “You have sworn to serve the people of this Kingdom! To be a wise King, to lead them and be just and righteous! And what will your legacy be, old man?”  
The first step onto the stairs leading up to the throne feels like a weight is put on his shoulders, his legs heavy and his movements slow. There is no danger here. No Guards, no soldiers, no servants. No King. Just an old man who spits curses at him, spit dripping over his chin and neck, mixing with blood and running over his beard. No threat.  
“Chaos. Dead children. War. Is this what you wanted?”, Minseok continues and finally raises his sword and his father hisses at him, kicks his legs out in a feeble attempt to shove Minseok backwards, but he is too weak, too old. And Minseok became a man just like the King wanted him to, became a warrior and he is stronger than this.  
This sorry excuse of a King.  
“My legacy is immortality, child.”, the old man smiles up at him, reaching out with both his hands like he wants to embrace him. “And what will yours be? Killing your own father? What a noble heritage, King Minseok.”  
If it were any other man, Minseok wouldn’t listen. He would brush those words away like dust, would shrug them off. He would end this quickly, would show mercy and not draw this out. He has granted a quick death to so many on the battlefield, killing them without mercy but with enough of it to not bring them pain.  
But this is not any man. And so Minseok bends down and takes a fist full of his fathers hair, the pointed tips of his gauntlet scratching over skin and ripping out hair, and he pulls.  
His father makes no sound, just stares up at him with wide eyes and Minseok is satisfied with the fear he sees there.  
“Immortality, boy.”, the King mutters, clawing at Minseoks chest with both his hands. “I am King forever, my reign will never end. Look at my Kingdom and despair.”  
“Goodbye father.”, Minseok answers him and brings up his sword. The blade is clean and shiny, unused in this entire battle for the throne, but it slices right into the soft skin at the side of the Kings neck, sinking past flesh and blood vessels and throat in one clean cut.  
And Minseok watches as it slips free on the other side again and the weight on his arm falls away, his hand snapping up and his fingers opening and the head slowly tumbles to the ground. He hears them scream outside the castle then, demanding blood, demanding death, demanding a new King and here he stands, covered in his fathers blood, crimson against his white cloak and silver armor and blade. A new King to a burning Kingdom.

 

“I miss White Hall.”, Jongdae announces lightly, his back turned to Minseok and his hands braced on the stone banister of the balcony. They are so high up above the city, they can barely hear the drums and songs, can barely hear the people celebrating their victory.  
It’s been days- weeks even - and still they are singing in the streets, still they are rejoicing.  
A new King, a new age, the dawn of peace.  
No more war, Minseok says and they all chant his name so loud, it’s all he can hear for hours even after he closes the gates. In here it’s silent, almost as silent as it used to be in White Hall. Minseok smiles into his goblet of red wine, lifts it to his lips and takes a sip, eyes flickering up to Jongdaes back.  
“I miss the silence.”  
“You miss the solitude.”, Minseok corrects him gently and leans back against the low seat, back pressed into pillows so soft, Minseok can easily imagine they are clouds, silk soft under his fingertips when he traces silver yarn on purple.  
“I hate this city.”, Jongdae simply answers him and even though Minseok is tempted to tell him that Jongdae has never been here before, that he hasn’t seen the true wonders of Silver Haven, he doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut and looks up from his wine, eyes flickering over the line of Jongdaes neck and his shoulder, over the faintest hint of silver scars where Minseok can see his skin beneath the crimson shirt he is wearing.  
It’s a simple piece of clothing, linen and hard against the fingers, the buttons made of bones and wood, but it reminds Minseok of home - long halls made of stone, no marble, no silver inlays, no golden light shining through high windows.  
Jongdae reminds him of home. He smells like the pine trees behind White Hall, like snow and cinnamon bread. And Jongdae isn’t just the soft things about the land in the East, he is the hard frost too, the iron grip the winter has on the North and East, is the harsh wind that blows from the Thunder Sea and Minseok cocks his head to the side as he lets his eyes wander down the side of Jongdaes face, over his nose and high cheekbones and the hard lines of his jaw. He imagines what this world would be like if Jongdae was King and Minseok was the Confidant. Isn’t he too gentle, too soft? He didn’t have the strength to order the execution of those who refused to swear an oath to him. Didn’t have enough steel in his voice to order his Guard to purge the streets from all those, who were still loyal to his father.  
But Jongdaes voice was so loud, so stable, so clear when he ordered all this, sending the Guard away and into the city to finish what they started.  
All in Minseoks name, while Minseok himself didn’t even say a single word.  
“Where are your thoughts, my King?”, Jongdae asks him softly and Minseok blinks, realizing that he stared at his Confidant for longer than would be appropriate. He looks to the side and takes another sip of fine pearly wine, lets it seep into his tongue, tastes the flavours of wood and smoke and the fine cherries that grow in the South.  
“With you.”, Minseok answers honestly and Jongdae breathes out a laugh. There is a breeze coming from the ocean, carrying nothing but the gentle scent of salt and freedom and it tussles Jongdaes hair, makes it fall into his eyes and he looks so young - oh so young and alive and handsome like he did on the day they first met.  
They are both nothing but children.  
“I see.”, his Confidant just says and turns back around to face the city once more, forearms on the banister and ankles crossed. “Come here, Minseok.”  
And Minseok follows his silent order, sets his goblet down on the table by his side and steps onto the balcony, breathes in the air and tips his head back to look up at the sky, filled with a thousand stars.  
“Look at your Kingdom, Minseok.”, Jongdae tells him and Minseok does, his hands on the stone in front of him, eyes scanning over the city beneath them. “This is yours now. All of these people down there, who are singing songs in your honor, are yours to guide now, yours to protect now, yours to rule now. You have the power to end this circle of dying and fighting now, Minseok. We are no longer hounds of war. You are no longer just a tool for someone else to use.”  
“I know.”, Minseok whispers and Jongdae turns his head to look at him, eyes dark and searching. “Do you really?”  
Minseok stays silent after that, not looking at Jongdae, but at the sea of lights underneath.  
“Will you be a better King than your father?”  
The question catches him off guard, makes him lift his gaze to lock eyes with Jongdae, who seems so relaxed next to him, but the crease between his eyebrows betrays how tense he really is. There are a thousand things Minseok could say - angry retorts, vows and promises - but all he does is give a gentle nod and then he breathes: “I will try to be. And you will help me, won’t you, Jongdae?”  
Jongdae doesn’t smile at this, not like he normally does. He just reaches out to gently brush the back of his hand against Minseoks cheek, to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear before he leans forward and kisses him.  
“You will be.”  
Minseok always believed in the things Jondae told him. He always did from the very first moment he met his Confidant, the moment they spoke their vows and pledged their lives to each other. And so he believes him now too.  
When he turns his back to the city again, lets the drums and singing voices slowly fade away, he walks back into his chambers, steps careful over the fine carpets and around the dark wooden furniture, fingers brushing over the edges of pillows and over the silken folds of curtains until he reaches the small table by his bed where the crown sits on a bed of red velvet, clean of all the blood, polished and shining.  
“Long live the King.”, it whispers.

 

The land behind the castles walls is wide and vast, green fields and soft falling hills and Minseok stands on the battlement and remembers how he bid his mother farewell for the last time. He wishes he could ride out there and go back to White Hall, leave the loud and bustling city behind him and ride out into the open land.  
He has never seen the wonders of the Waking World with his eyes not tainted by war, not tainted by blood. The cage he built for himself is crafted by clashing armies and colliding swords. His body remembers the war, the fighting, not the calm and peace he feels like he is experiencing for the first time since he was a child.  
The crown sits heavy on his head and Minseok knows it’s just another kind of leash that is put on him. Now that the shackles around his wrists have fallen away and he is free of the hard hand of his father, there is another thing that straps him down and he wants to scream.  
He wants to turn to the people who are waiting in the yard beneath him and tell them to find another King because he doesn’t want to rule them, because he doesn’t see himself fit to take over this place on the throne.  
But he doesn’t.  
The crown fits snugly around his head, pressing cold against his forehead and it feels like it will never grow warm with the heat of his body. It’s like his fathers hand is lying on top of his hair and he shivers, voice halting in the words of his vow to rule this Kingdom.  
Luhan is clearing his throat next to him ever so softly and Minseok doesn’t know why, but he proceeds, voice suddenly hard and loud. He doesn’t know where he got the strength to say it like he means it. Because he really doesn’t.  
“And I will give my life to protect the people of my Kingdom, be their brother, husband, father, son and priest. I will be whatever my kinsmen need me to be. And no man shall be turned away at my gates if he seeks help. May the Living Light guide me and guide my hand. May the God of Fire give me wisdom and may Justice always be on my tongue.”  
These words make him King and still… Minseok feels like he didn’t say them himself.  
And as they start chanting his name in the yard and in the streets and they blow the fanfares to announce the new age of the White Lord, the White King, he hears it whisper inside his head: Long live the King.

 

Jongdae is a strict man.  
They whisper behind his back that he is too strict, that he drives his men too hard, that he makes them train to much, that he takes his title too seriously. There is no danger in Silver Haven for the newly crowned King. He is save. They all deserve a break.  
And still Jongdae is strict. He keeps ruling over the White Guard with a hand as hard as silver iron, face grim and rules unforgiving. Because he is the only one who will be able to keep Minseok safe. It’s his duty to do so - to protect his Master, his other half, the man he swore his life to. And so it is his duty to have Minseoks back, to show the people what kind of King their ruler is. True to his word, even-handed. Minseok doesn’t make a difference between a nobleman and a beggar. He doesn’t make a difference between high born lady, soldier and whore. They have to show the world that even though this King might be young and he might not know how to rule a country yet, he is still the one who rules this land.  
It’s been bloody business for Jongdae over the past few months, the past year even, he has to admit that. All those who weren’t willing to bow to their new King, all those noble families still swearing their loyalty to the late King - they all had to die.  
Silver Haven had to be purged of those who were defying Minseok and Jongdae was the one to carry out the task. It was a cruel task, yes, but Jongdae did it nonetheless.  
He did it without questioning Minseok or Lord Luhan or Lord Yifan when they ordered him to kill those people and kill their children and kill their servants. And he still held his head high even though the people in the streets were cursing at him for bringing them new streams of blood flowing down the streets. More street children. More tears to be dried.  
Jongdae did it all for Minseok.  
He does whatever has to be done and Minseok never says a single word of gratitude, just looks at him with those knowing eyes from across the room, from across the table, from across the bed. Jongdae might be a strict man, but when it comes to his King, he is soft.  
He is soft when Minseoks hand finds his under the table and squeezes - a brief moment of fear and perplexity. And he is soft and yielding when Minseok pulls him into his chambers and closes the door, telling Jongdae that there is no need for a Guard by his door tonight.  
Jongdae knows that they are saying about them. That the men are talking about them and yet he doesn’t care because they are not doing anything wrong.  
Minseok is his, has always been his and Jongdae finds hope in this thought.  
It’s a spark of warm fire in his chest in a world that is nothing but cruel. They still have a long way to go until there is absolute peace in the Waking World. He doesn’t lie to himself about that. And he doesn’t lie to his men about it either. He wants them to work harder, to become better and better because there is still war by the borders and there are still enemies out there who think they could conquer their Kingdom now that their regent is still young and his reign is still weak. They have to prove to the world that Yongnian will always be strong.

“Commander.”  
Jongdae turns his head, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from the letter he is sealing with white wax and a golden signet he wears on his finger. It’s enough for the soldier to speak, enough signal for the man to know that Jongdae is listening.  
His voice is young and Jongdae is almost tempted to look at him, but his ring is just sinking into the wax and he keeps still while the soldier says: “Commander, there has been an incident at one of the brothels in Lowtown. They called the Guard, but apparently a member of the White Guard is involved and we need your immediate attendance now, Sir.”  
Jongdae lifts an eyebrow at that, mouth twisting into a grimace as he slowly lifts his gaze from the letter and regards the young soldier in front of him with an angry look.  
It’s indeed a young lad, dark hair and bright eyes and he straightens himself when he meets the Commanders eyes, fear flickering over his features.  
“Show me the way.”, Jongdae simply answers him and slowly pushes himself out of his chair, cloat falling over the back of his armor in a smooth wave. The soldier salutes and turns on his heel, hurrying away. Jongdae doesn’t hurry as much, takes his time closing the door of his small working room behind him, steps almost too calm. And the people whisper behind his back when he rides through the streets, back straight and shoulders pulled back, one hand on the pommel of his sword as an ever present reminder that he is strict man.  
It’s one of the nicer brothels in Lowtown, maybe even infamous for its services and the quality of their house. Jongdae has heard rumors about it, has read the name while passing the building countless times and his grimace only deepens when he reads it once more today. Rose House.  
Jongdae despises the name, despises the rumors about this place and he despises the fact that he has to punish a few of his men every other week for breaking his rules and visiting a brothel in the first place. They always come to this one.  
When he dismounts his horse and hands it over to the stable boy waiting for them already, he can hear the ruckus inside, can hear yelling voices and breaking glass, a woman weeping and more men and girls screaming in the background. And then there is this bone rattling sound, piercing and high and Jongdae has heard this sound a thousand times too often in his life. It’s the sound of utter pain and betrayal, blood curdling and cruel.  
His body reacts on his own and he bursts into the house with the door nearly flying off its hinges, voice as loud as a thunderstruck.  
“What is going on here?!”  
The entire rooms seems to freeze upon his entry, people scattering out of the way and every sound has died, except for two. Someone is still screaming at the top of their lungs - in pain and not in anger - and the other is a screeching woman, rage clear in her voice.  
Jongdae is sure it is normally a beautiful voice, but right now it is twisted with insanity and madness and he he nearly does a double take when he finds the source of the ruckus.  
Nobody is moving but him, striding across the room in no more than five steps, curling his arms around the torso of a young woman and dragging her off a boy who is lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood.  
A knife clatters to the floor and the woman goes lax in his hold.  
“Somebody explain this! Now!”, Jongdae demands and drops the girl, giving her a hard stare while she curls in around herself at his feet, whispering over and over: “It is my place.”  
The room starts moving again, people rushing to explain, talking and talking but Jongdae doesn’t listen. He kneels down beside the boy, brushes off his gauntlet and presses the tips of his fingers to the boys neck, feeling for a sign of life. It’s there, fluttering weakly under the pads of his fingers.  
“He’s alive.”, he tells the soldier who brought him here, voice cutting through the chaos around them. “Ride quickly and get him to Crown Hold. He will die if we don’t act fast.”  
The soldier nods, face pale and Jongdae realizes that this is the boy he recruited from the West Lands not too long ago.  
“Somebody give him a hand.”, Jongdae orders and a man rushes over, already bending down before he stops and nearly backs away in view of the horrible work the knife has done on the boys face. There is skin peeling away from the bone of his cheek, blood seeping out of an eye, mouth nothing but an open wound. This boy will never be the same again.  
But even though Jongdae is sure that some people would have told themselves it would be mercy to let him die, he knows that every being in this world has only one desire: to be alive.  
So he snarls wordlessly and the man takes hold of the boys legs, eyes avoiding the cruel sight, face green and pale. Jongdae is sure he looked exactly the same way back then when he saw his first dead body.

 

 

At this time of the year, the gardens are wonderful - in full bloom, radiant with chatoyant colors, thousands of tiny blossoms illuminated by the bright light of a slowly setting sun, casting long streaks of rainbow light across the terrace. Jondae finds Minseok sitting in one of the high chairs there, one hand playing with a golden goblet, adorned with glittering jewels, as the King quietly mutters to himself, one hand curling around the crown that lays in his lap. There are dark shadows under the young mans eyes and Jongdae stops himself to think: When was the last time Minseok slept? When was the last time Jondae had the chance to look down into his peaceful face, all worry and hard lines gone and nothing left but the soft round cheeks and gentle bow of his curving lips, slack with sleep and oh so tendere to the touch of Jongdaes fingers. It’s been so long and Jongdae can’t help but to add to the thought that Minseok has shut him out. The King has locked his doors, has locked his heart and the people whisper that not only Jongdae is a harsh man, but that their King is a strange one too. They hear a voice whisper inside his chambers, a voice that does not belong to the young King, but to the old one, twisted and silent and eerie. Jongdae shivers and then Minseok lifts his gaze from where he was staring the red Roses seaming the terraces edge and his face lights up, his eyes crinkle and Jongdae shakes his head to get rid of the claws of fear that are always scratching at his insides when ever he sees Minseok sitting like this. Like he doesn’t belong into his world anymore.  
“My Confidant.”, Minseok says and his voice holds the same tinkling of snow against glass as always. And Jongdae takes a step forward, stretches out his arm and takes Minseoks hand into his, the Kings smaller fingers easily twinging together with his.  
“My King.”, Jongdae answers him, voice gentle and face soft and Minseoks smile grows soft around the edges, his eyes shining tenderly up at the taller man.  
“I didn’t expect you today.”, the young King confesses and cocks his head to the side and Jongdae watches his auburn hair fall into his face, covering one of his eyebrows and Gods, he looks so young like this. Like he hasn’t seen the horrors of war, hasn’t buried his father and mother only months ago. Like he carries the weight of this Kingdom on his shoulders like it’s the weight of a feather.  
“My deepest apologies.”, Jongdae grins and Minseok rolls his eyes at his formal tone, gives his fingers a small but warning squeeze and Jongdae adds with a small bow of his head: “I come with serious matters, my King.”  
“I am starting to think you are neglecting me as your lover and only see me as the regent now, Jongdae.”, Minseok jokes lightly and slowly lifts the crown up to his head, placing it carefully on his silken hair. “What brings you here then, Confidant?”  
Jongdae allows himself to agree silently to his lovers words, smile finally slipping from his lips as he says: “I was called into a brothel earlier. There was a commotion between two… hosts. I had to break it up, but I brought a boy with me to the castle. He is badly wounded, Minseok. I don’t know if he will make it through the night.”  
Minseok raises a single eyebrow at that, face clearly questioning. “And why would I be concerned about two whores fighting, Jongdae?”  
“It was…”, Jongdae starts and then shakes his head, eyes wandering over the blooming garden around them and then back to the King, studying his features for a moment before he whispers: “It is your duty to not forget about the small man in your land, Minseok. This boy is innocent. His whole life is destroyed now. He will never be beautiful again.”  
Minseok doesn’t speak for a long moment, just looks at Jongdae with furrowed eyebrows before he nods and gestures Jongdae to guide him along, hand easily brushing against the Commanders arm in what could be a casual movement, but it is so much more to Jongdae.  
It means that Minseok has not forgotten about the bond between them - at least it’s what it means to him now. He has to savor each and every touch he gets and he does.  
They walk in silence for a while, Minseok so close by his side that their arms brush and for other people it must seem like a casual walk between friends and maybe it is, but Jongdae dreads the silence, dreads the closed off look on the Kings face, like his mind is wandering places Jongdae can’t follow him to. He hates the way Minseoks eyes grow distant, how the smaller mans hand doesn’t reach out for him anymore and he wishes he could go back in time to change that fateful moment he begged Minseok to become King.

If only he knew back then, what he knows now.  
He gained a King, gained a Kingdom and saved Yongnian, but at the same time he lost Minseok. It’s the bitter truth, displeasing like biting into a peach and finding it hard and sour instead of sweet and soft.  
Jongdaes chamber is silent and smells of blood when they arrive and Jongdae almost expects Minseok to recoil, to cover his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, but the King doesn’t even bat an eyelash, doesn’t flinch even though the room reeks of death that is slowly seeping through the window with the coming darkness of the night.  
They have laid the boy down on Jongdaes own bed, blood still running down the sides of his face and staining Jongdaes pillows a dark crimson red that blooms like little roses on the white. Most of the rent boys face is covered by a piece of wet fabric, but the sides of it are still visible and so are the deep gashes the kive left on his delicate skin, a part of his cheekbone showing through one of the wounds.  
“Oh.”, Minseok makes and slowly skins onto the chair next to the bed. And Jongdae watches silently as this too gentle man who has seen too many people die slowly reach out and lift the piece of cloth away from the boys face, careful and gentle and drop it into his lap, dirtying his expensive robes with blood and tears.  
“You poor soul.”; the King says silently and his face is filled with such a grief, Jongdae feels his own heart breaking in two. Minseok might have been a horrible child, but he is a too soft man now although his fragile heart is hidden behind layers of muscle and the light of crown now. Jongdae still sees him like he is. Minseok of White Hall, not King of Silver Haven.  
There is nothing but sadness in this tiny room for minutes that are slowly ticking by, the sky growing darker and darker behind the small windows.  
“Who could hate such a beautiful face to do something as cruel as this?”, Minseok asks and turns his head to look at Jongdae, his eyes shining with grief. “Is this why you brought me here? Why, Jongdae? What could I do for this boy? He is dying and maybe it’s best for him.”  
“No.”; Jongdae cuts him off and Minseok reels back, eyebrows knitting together in anger but then his features smooth out again with each word Jongdae speaks.  
“People break beautiful things, Minseok. They break them because all they know is the ugliness of this world. They break them because they are jealous and they don’t understand that in this cruel world we need the beauty of fragile things. I brought you here to see this and understand that these people need you, Minseok. They need you because you are the one who always saw the beauty in things. My Kind, I-”  
Minseok lifts a hand and stops his words, face closed off again and eyes hard. His lips are no longer soft and gracefully bowed, they are pressed together in a grim line  
Again the silence takes over, covering them in a thick blanket of thoughts and Jongdae fears that he has lost Minseok again, that whatever wanders his mind has taken over again and there is nothing to be said or done anymore. And he waits for Minseok to get up and brush him off like he has done so many times, but for some strange reason, the moment stretches between them and Minseok is still not moving, his eyes fixed on the rent boys face.  
“I will lead the hearing myself.”, the smaller finally declares and Jongdae breathes out, his shoulders relaxing again. “And I need Sehun. I need him as fast as you can get him, Jongdae. This boy here doesn’t have much time left.”  
And even though the Commander is surprised by Minseoks choice of help, he doesn’t correct him, just bows and turns on his heel to find the younger Prince, leaving Minseok behind and alone in his tiny bedchamber with the cruel image of a dying boy burning itself into the back of his mind.

 

People sometimes say that silence is deadly.  
It gives you too much time to think, too much time to be alone with your own mind, but to Minseok the world is never silent. It isn’t silent in his dreams when he hears the people scream inside his head, hears them scream his name in victory, in agony, in pain. It isn’t silent when he is awake and wandering the halls of Crown Hold on his own.  
Because he is never truly alone.  
And as he sits there in Jongdaes bedroom, all alone with the dying whore beside him, he hears it again. The whispering inside his head, the voice.  
_This could be you, it says silently. You are beautiful, young King. People break beautiful things. Jongdae said so himself. One day they will break you too._  
Minseok tries not to listen, tries to tell himself that all this is just his imagination, that he is just lonely and lost in this too big palace, in a place too big for him.  
_Jongdae will be the one to break you, Minseok. He will be the one holding you back. Look at him, controlling you. Bringing you here to see this mess. What for? He will be the one to strike you down one day, child. He will be the one to-_  
The boy on the bed makes a silent sound and the voice inside Minseoks head falls silent as suddenly as if someone shut a door inside his mind. His eyes flicker up from where he was playing with the crown on his lap, fingers bloody from the rack still on his knees and he looks up at the whore who slowly opens his eyes and looks at him, one eye nearly blinded by the blade almost cutting it in half. He was lucky.  
“Please…”, the boy whispers and Minseok finds himself leaning forward to hear him better, to catch the words falling from his lips as if they are his last. “Don’t let me die.”  
Before he knows it he is reaching forward, placing his hand on the elegant fingers lying still and almost lifeless on the sheets, clutching them tightly and ignoring the warmth of fever seeping into his own skin.  
“I won’t.”, he promises quietly and the rent boys eyelids flutter, his lips stretch into a smile that is heartbreakingly beautiful in its terribly twisted image.  
_You will die like him one day too. All alone and on your own._  
But for once Minseok ignores the voice and answers the boys smile with one of his own, hesitant and stiff, but it seems to be enough because the boy closes his eyes again and heaves a sigh that shakes his whole skinny body.  
The room falls silent again. And it is truly silent now.

 

When Jongdae returns with Sehun by his side, the room is dark and cold around the King and the dying whore. Minseok is still holding the boys hand between his own, stroking gentle circles into the heated skin and he meets his brothers eyes almost pleadingly, the silent exchange between King and Prince something Jongdae can never really understand. He doesn’t understand why Minseok called for the silent Prince instead of the Alchemist either, but he has long learned not to question any of Minseoks orders anymore.  
“Why exactly are we here?”  
The youngest Prince currently residing in Crown Hold scowls silently at that and shoots an angry glance at his older brother over his shoulder, regarding Prince Chanyeol with one hard stare that has the older and taller Prince take a step back and raise his hands in surrender although the silent raven haired boy hasn’t even said one single word.  
“Chanyeol.”, Minseok says from the bed, voice tired and hoarse. “You didn’t have to come along.”  
“Someone has to watch the Princeling here.”, Chanyeol shoots back and Sehun snorts while Minseok laughs silently, eyes finding Jongdaes, who is still standing beside the Princes, face grim.  
“You know why you are here?”, Minseok asks, words directed at his younger brother even though his eyes never leave his Commander, a wordless command to stay and wait for him to be done. Jongdae has seen this look on his Kings face countless times.  
“I do.”, Sehun answers him quietly and walks up to his side, Chanyeol following curiously, peeking over his brothers shoulder to get a look at what is happening - always the curious one.  
“Don’t.”, Sehun snaps at him and makes an angry gesture towards the Red Lord, his eyes flashing and Chanyeol rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue. “You can leave now, Minseok.”  
“Alright.”; the King whispers and it seems as if he is reluctant to let go of the slender hand he is clutching so tightly. “Do what you can, brother.”  
Sehun doesn’t answer the King, just waves him away and takes his place by the bed, still glaring angrily at Chanyeol, who is still standing by his side, muttering lowly under his breath.  
“Your chamber is taken.”, Minseok says as soon as the door falls shut and they are alone again, his arm pressed against Jongdaes side as they stand there, Minseoks gaze searching for his.  
“So it seems.”, Jongdae replies with a silent chuckle tainting his words and he dares to lift a hand and brush the back of his knuckles against the Kings cheeks, whose eyes flutter shut and Jongdae watches in fascination as the smaller man leans into the touch, lips curving up at the corners.  
“Come sleep in my bed then.”, Minseok suggests and when he opens his eyes, they are filled humor. “You could always sleep in the staples though. I know you liked to do that when you were still a young man.”  
“I am still a young man.”, Jongdae says, completely outraged and Minseok laughs, patting his chest with one small hand and mutters: “If you say so, Commander. You haven’t proven to me that you are in a long time though.”  
With that the King leaves his sputtering Confidant behind, who is quick to follow and argue, their laughter bouncing off the walls as they make their way up towards the Kings Chambers. And the crown doesn’t adorn Minseoks head anymore. The voice is gone as well.

 

Death favors no man.  
Chanyeol has learned so in the war. He has learned so when he lost brothers and sisters, comrades and friends. He has learned so when they nearly lost Lu Han in one of the battles they have fought side by side. But he also knows that death can be mercyful. That sometimes it is better to let someone die, rather than to keep them alive and make them suffer. To let this boy die would be merciful, he thinks as he watches Sehun work in silence. He watches the younger Prince clean the whores face with careful fingers, watches him stitch the wounds shut with quick and practiced movements while he whispers under his breath in an old forgotten language no one understands anymore.  
“Let him die.”, he says then after a while, leaning back against the wall and Sehun stops where he is cutting off the yarn he uses to close the wounds. The younger Prince doesn’t move for long moments, just looks down at the unconscious form in front of him before he shakes his head and slowly turns on the chair to look at Chanyeol, his black hair framing his face like a halo in the moonlit room.  
“Why should I? He doesn’t want to die. Just because you can’t feel it, Chanyeol, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. He has such a strong soul. So old. So full of life.”, Sehun answers him and leans his chin against the back of the chair. There is this strange little flame flickering inside his hazelnut eyes again - the flame that always makes Chanyeol shudder. Because he knows what Sehun can do and what Sehun says whenever that fire is burning inside of him.  
“Is that so?”, Chanyeol just asks and almost wishes for Sehun to scoff and turn away again, like he always does. But the younger Prince just keeps looking at him and blinks slowly, the flame growing a little bit brighter.  
“Do you think you are lucky?”, the younger asks and Chanyeol makes a confused sound, combing a hand through his almost white hair. “I guess?”  
“There is no such thing as luck.”, Sehun informs him and his voice makes the Red Lord stop in his tracks and look at the boy sitting on the chair, his long limbs folded gracefully around and under himself.  
“There is no such thing as luck. Do you think it was luck that Jongdae found him and brought him here? That Minseok called for me? No luck and no coincidence, brother.”  
They look at each other for a heartbeat or two before Chanyeol finally finds his voice again and asks in nothing but a breathy whisper: “What are you trying to say?”  
Sehun shrugs softly, turning his face so his cheek is resting against his palm, eyes trained on the boy on the bed who seems to be sleeping almost peacefully.  
“Souls never die. Bodies do. Souls live on. And they take everything from their life with them into the next.”, he murmurs, sounding almost drunk. “And maybe in an old life… who knows… a Prince saw a beggar who was starving on the street and gave him a golden coin. Because that Prince was merciful and righteous and he loved his people as much as he loved life. Perhaps in the next life it is the beggar himself who wears a golden armor now and wouldn’t spare the Prince a single glance as he rides past him if the Prince isn’t beautiful. Even though the Prince is still holding the strings of the beggars heart in his hands now. After all this time.”  
The shiver that races down Chanyeols spine feels like someone touched him with a hand as cold as ice. As if someone reached into his chest and pulled at his heart and he can’t help but to look at the boy on the bed, heart racing and hammering away inside his throat.  
He can only imagine what this face must look like behind all the grime and wounds, how pretty it must be if not for the horrible injuries.  
Sehun doesn’t make a single sound anymore and when Chanyeol looks back at him, the younger is fast asleep in his chair, arms folded under his head. He ignores the twisting inside his gut when he sees the blue droplets seeping out from underneath the black haired Princes eyelids and clinging to his lashes as he slowly gets up off the floor and heaves his brother into his arms to carry him back into Lu Hans chambers.  
If not for the Golden Lord, Chanyeol might think that the youngest in their rows has lost his mind and is talking in madness - but still. The Red Lord has seen what power this boy holds and his words always hold a tiny bit of truth in them. He doesn’t question himself when he returns to Commander Jongdaes chambers and sits down in the chair, legs crossed and hand hesitantly reaching out to trace over the sleeping rent boys knuckles. He doesn’t question why he is staying by his side for the rest of the night either.

 

Minseoks mother used to be beautiful.  
She had long flowing hair, auburn like his own, the same almond shaped eyes, the same smile. He sits in his chambers, staring at her portrait for hours, the crown between his hands and tries not to compare himself to the man who fathered him, but he can’t help it. He has his height, the same eyecolor like all the Princes do.  
But he is different, Minseok decides as he places the crown back onto his head and stands up from the armchair, brushing his hands down his robes and then turns to look at the full length mirror forged of Dragonglass. He squares his shoulders, lifts his chin a little and studies his appearance in the reflecting glass, takes in the way the long cloak lined with black fur seems to swallow him whole and yet… yet he feels big. While looking at himself like this, Minseok thinks that maybe he was really born for this.  
This is his birthright after all.  
_You are King, Minseok. Of course you are._  
The voice grows louder with each passing day and Minseok can’t ignore it anymore. It sits behind his eyes, like a pressure inside his skull, always luring, always whispering. He doesn’t know if it is his own voice, or someone elses. It sounds like his father at night. It sounds like his mother at day.  
But he is neither his father, nor is he his mother. It’s his reign now and the Kingdom loves the King. They love him because he is kind and gentle and he leads them strong and towards peace. No more war, he promised to Jongdae, to his people.  
So he makes his way down the hallway alone, strong steps leading him down into the halls of Crown Hold, servants bowing left and right and Minseok bows his head to each and every one of them, a small smile on his lips he has practiced in front of the mirror.  
Strong but gentle, human. It’s what his mother taught him and Minseok thinks that maybe this is his way of honoring her memory. By living the way she wanted him to live.  
The dining hall is filled with voices and laughter as Minseok steps inside, but all conversation ceases the moment he steps through the double doors, all the men and ladies lining the table hurrying to rise from their seats to welcome their King, bowing deep.  
He waits until he has stepped towards his own seat before he acknowledges them, nodding to both sides of the long table before he reaches for his goblet, raising it high and nearly above his head as he says: “Let us drink to the treaty of peace we will sign today. Welcome to the Lords of the Dune, welcome my brothers and sister of Yongnian. May our Kingdoms not become one but exist in peace as neighbours in honor. Drink to a new age of life instead of death.”  
“Drink to the reign of a new King.”, comes a silent voice from his right and he nods towards the ambassador of the Dune, eyes raking down the mans body once before he looks back up at his eyes, meeting the almost black color with his own hazelnut before he brings the goblet to his mouth and takes a sip. The wine is cool and spiced with cinnamon and something that tastes like almonds on Minseoks tongue and he swallows around the liquid with a throat that almost feels clogged. Chairs scrape over the marble floor as Minseok watches all the Lords and Ladies take their seats again before he sits down himself, careful of the cloak. He doesn’t feel like eating, he doesn’t feel like drinking either, but he does it anyway. Each bite he swallows feels like dust in his mouth, like it turns to ash the moment the luxurious food touches his tongue.  
“So tell me, King Minseok.”, the ambassador to his right starts, dabbing his mouth with the silken napkin before dropping it back onto the table and Minseoks eyes find the red spots of wine and berries on the fabric before he looks back at the man by his side, one eyebrow raised delicately as he swallows his own food. “What changed your mind about the treaty? We all know the history between our Kingdoms. And you were one of the Princes who conquered most of our lands lining the borders.”  
The question comes not unexpected and Minseok finds himself smiling, gaze flickering down the table to where his brothers are engrossed in deep conversation. He finds Lu Hans eyes, sees the way his brother reaches for Sehuns hand to give it a gentle pat and the motion has Minseoks heart stuttering in his heart. He wishes for a second that Jongdae would be by his side. The ambassador is still waiting for his answer in silence, hand with his goblet raised halfway to his lips and Minseok hurries to say: “I was raised in the war, Mylord. I was raised to be a warrior like all of us were. But most of all, was I raised to become King one day. My father was striving for more land, but more land comes with more death and more people to feed, more land to reign. Do we really need our Kingdoms at war with each other when we could exist alongside each other in peace? We could benefit from each other so much more like this, don’t you agree, Lord Zitao?”  
_The Dune was once part of your Kingdom though, child._  
Minseok clears his throat angrily at the interruption of his own thoughts and takes a sip of his wine, swallowing slowly as the ambassador nods, a deep sigh shaking the mans shoulders.  
“It would have been wonderful if your father thought like this. We have lost seven Lords and three Princes to this war.”, the man mutters and Minseok shoots back: “And so did we.”  
“Excuse my interruption.”, the other ambassador to Minseoks left cuts in, bowing his head respectfully and both Minseok and Zitao look at him. He is a handsome man, different from Zitao with his dark hair and tanned skin. He is fair, his black hair a stark contrast to his skin and it’s strange how much it reminds Minseok of Sehun, their youngest. The ambassador looks sleepy, if Minseok would dare to say so, a tiny dimple appearing in his cheek as he smiles.  
“This war has brought nothing but sorrow and death to our people, Exalted. It has brought hatred into the hearts of the Dune people. Your invitation came unexpected to say the least.”  
“It sure has.”, Zitao states and empties his goblet, waving for one of the servants waiting to refill their plates and glasses. Minseok watches in silence as the boy fills his own goblet too. He has never seen that servant before, he thinks, but the voice inside his head tells him that a King doesn’t need to know the people who clean his castle and fill his goblet with wine.  
“Let us drink again then.”, ambassador Zitao says and raises his silver goblet towards the other man across from him. “May the hatred vanish from our hearts one day. Right, Yixing?”  
“Righ.”, the man smiles and something feels off.  
It feels wrong when Minseok lifts the goblet to his lips and takes a sip, tastes the cinnamon on his lips, tastes the almonds and then something else. Bitter first and then sour as if he has bitten into a lemon. It bubbles in his mouth like his tongue is blistering and it runs down his throat like he swallowed something hot.  
He coughs once, clears his throat and tries to speak, but no words leave his mouth. It’s like someone stuffed a burning coal into his windpipe and he coughs again, setting the goblet down.  
“Are you not feeling well, Exalted?”, Yixing asks gently, still smiling his dimpled smile. “Would you like a glass of water?”  
_Poison!_ , the voice inside Minseok screeches as he struggles to breathe, one hand coming up to close around his throat and he hears someone shout. It sounds like Sehun, as if he is in pain. Minseok tries to look down the table to where Lu Han has jumped up from his seat, stumbling on his stiff leg, tripping over his own chair as chaos breaks out all around the dining hall. Something wet runs down his chin when he coughs again and the voice purrs into his ear: They poisoned you.  
“Minseok!”, he hears Chanyeol shout over the ruckus and he looks down at his hands that are stained with wine and blood, at the read dripping from his mouth as he wheezes for air.  
“Treason!”, Yifan screams and this is all Minseok can hear.

Treason.  
Treason.  
Treason.

There is fire sizzling in his belly, in his neck, in his mouth and he stands from his chair, falling over his cloak and crashing to the floor, the crown rolling away into the shadows beneath the table as Minseoks head hits the floor. Poison.  
He wants to scream, ask the ambassadors why- why poison him when he is giving them what they wanted? He can’t find them in the chaos anymore, their seats are empty and their guards gone. Servants are running around the dining hall, tablets dropping to the floor, wine spilling over white marble and Minseok coughs up more blood, watches it spread out on the floor around him. Someone is dropping to the floor next to him, arms are pulling him up and hands are pressing something into his mouth, forcing him to swallow.  
“Swallow, Minseok!”, Lu Han orders from above and the smell of pines and wood envelope him as Sehun picks him up, still forcing something ice cold down his throat. “Please!”  
_Look at them, the voice murmurs lowly. They poisoned you. Weak King. Dying King. The weak link in this chain of Kings. Poisoned at your own dinner table. You are dying, child. So weak. Broken. Where is Jongdae now? Where is he to protect you?_  
“Traitors.”, Minseok rasps out before he goes limp in Sehuns hold and another wave of blood taints the younger Princes shirt.

 

He awakes to the sound of bells in the city. Wind is brushing through his opened windows and the door to his balcony, the white curtains swaying in the breeze. His body feels like dead weight, his limbs heavy and his mouth dry. The bells grow louder as Minseok opens his eyes, looks up at the ceiling of his chambers and then to his side, where the mattress of his bed is dipping slightly under a second body.  
Jongdae is sitting on a low stool next to him, head between his arms and he seems to be fast asleep, but his head shoots up when Minseok makes a small sound of discomfort.  
“Min-”, he starts and then breaks off when his voice scratches in his throat.  
“Jongdae.”, Minseok whispers and ignores the voice asking him again where his Confidant was when he got poisoned. He wants to reach out for Jongdaes face, wants to take it between his hands and kiss him, but he can’t. His body isn’t listening.  
But Jongdae leans forward, crawls onto the bed and pulls Minseok up and into his arms, presses his face into the side of Minseoks neck and the King can feel the hot salty tears his Commander is trying to hide from him seeping into his skin.  
“I thought I lost you.”, he whispers and Minseok breathes in, wants to tell him that he didn’t, that he wouldn’t- but it’s a lie. Minseok knows that a part of him died on the floor in the dining hall when he was fighting for his life around a mouth full of blood.  
“I needed you.”, Minseok gets out through a throat that feels bloody and raw. “You weren’t there… Why weren’t you there, Jongdae?”  
He knows that his Commander couldn’t have done anything. Jongdae couldn’t have done anything to prevent this from happening, but Minseok feels like he needed him. And he wasn’t there. The voice is right. Minseok is alone and he is weak.  
“I- I know you… I know, Minseok.”, Jongdae tells him silently and his voice breaks with each word he speaks. “I didn’t know this- I thought you were safe… I was-”  
“Jongdae.”, Minseok cuts him off and squirms in his hold, his weakened body protesting against the movements and he groans in pain, dropping back against his countless pillows while Jongdae looks down at him with wide, frightened and eyes, red from crying.  
“I am alive.”, he assures his Commander, although he isn’t sure if he should. Shouldn’t he be the one to be assured? To be soothed? “I am alive.”  
“And I am guilty.”, Jongdae breathes out, slumping back against the mattress as if he is defeated. He looks older, Minseok notes in the back of his head. There are dark circles under his eyes, grim lines around his mouth and his skin looks pale. His hair looks disheveled, but not in the good way Minseok likes. It’s not like when Minseok ran his fingers through his Commanders silky dark locks while gasping out his name in bliss. This man here looks like a broken soldier, tired and worn out and Minseok regrets so many things in his life right now. He regrets dragging Jongdae down with him like this.  
Jongdae used to be so full of light before the war. But maybe Minseok used to be too.  
“I love you.”, his Confidant suddenly says and Minseoks eyes snap open. It’s not like he doesn’t know, but he has never heard it spoken out loud. It warms his chest in a different kind of pain, makes his breath hitch.  
“I love you Minseok.”, Jongdae repeats, a little louder this time and Minseok feels hot tears running down the sides of his face and into the creases of his dry and cracked lips. He can do nothing but to reach out for the man beside him and place a hand over the others heart, right where he knows his heart his beating just as fast as Minseoks own.  
“Should have been there.”, the taller man mutters softly and Minseok shakes his head, the voice not disagreeing for once. It’s not there with him right now and Minseok is left alone inside his own mind and he feels like he has never been filled with more love than he is right now. His heart feels like it will burst out of his chest any second.  
“And I don’t even have a good reason why I wasn’t with you when you needed me.”, Jongdae stutters out, fidgeting next to his King while he tries to get something out of his pocket. It’s a small box, simple in it’s delicate wooden design and Minseok takes it from his Commander before the other man has a chance to say anything else. It’s a simple box and yet Minseok knows what’s inside. He has looked at this very box through the tiny window of a silver smith in the city when he and Jongdae had snuck away from the celebrations of his coronation. He looked through that window and saw that box, the sign of eternity edged into the dark wood, shining golden in the candle light.  
“My mother had a similar one.”, Minseok remembers silently, tracing the edges of the box with his fingers, but Jongdae stops him and shakes his head, quietly urging him to open it.  
And Minseok does so. His heart has never felt like it would burst with so much love and there are tears streaming down his face at what he finds inside the simple wooden container. All he does is nod.

 

“War.”, Yifan declares with a voice booming around the room like the sound of a giant bell. He looks grim, his mouth an angry line and his dark eyebrows knitted together in fury.  
“I demand war for the outrageous crime the Dune has comitted.”  
“Me too.”, Chanyeol agrees with his brother, searching for Minseoks eyes, who is sitting in a low and cushioned chair at the head of the table. “This can not be forgiven.”  
“No.”, Lu Han interrupts him with a stern tone, balling his fists on the table and Sehun reaches out to place one of his hands over his brothers tiny fingers. “This is not the right way. We have no proof.”  
_They have fled the scene. What more proof do we need?_  
“They vanished in the chaos. It is proof enough.”, Minseok repeats the words inside his head out loud and the table grows silent. His brothers look at him with worried eyes, Lu Han shaking his head in a silent plea not to start another war. This is not what they crowned him for. And still. They didn’t crown him to be a weak king either.  
“Your guard would have killed them in a heartbeat, Minseok.”, Sehun says as if he is reading his brothers mind and Lu Han gives him a grateful look. Yifan is the one scoffing now.  
The Black Lord rolls his eyes, leans back in his chair and rumbles out:  
“Chanyeol and I demand blood for the blood of our King. This is our right.”  
Lu Han forces out a laugh, cold and bitter. “All you two ever demand is war, Yifan. You two have no right to, though. This is a matter of diplomacy, not of the force of swords.”  
“And coming from you, it means what exactly? Golden Lord, slayer of armies?”, Chanyeol retorts and Lu Hans face twists into an angry grimace. He is about to answer his younger brother, probably spitting venom, but it is Sehun who speaks next and Minseok gets ripped out of his thoughts by their youngest Lords words.  
“We can not ignore the fact that there are other people who want our brother dead. Other people who would benefit from a war between Yongnian and the Dunes. This could be a plot to destroy us both! Think about it, brothers. I know I might be the youngest Lord among us, but please listen to me. We should not-”  
“Should not what? Avenge the near assassination of our beloved King?”, Yifan barks out and Sehun falls silent, shrinking in his seat and into Lu Hans side. The fight between them starts anew and Minseok loses his thoughts again.  
_You are weak, the voice hums almost sounding gleeful. You are a weak King, the chain will break with you. I can make you strong, Minseok. I can give you the power to rule over this Kingdom with an iron fist. To bring final peace to us all. The world needs a King. Not a child playing with a crown._  
His throat still hurts. His mouth tastes like blood and his body feels like he fell off a horse and got trampled. They are waiting for him to fail, Minseok realizes as he listens to the words spoken to only him. He really is weak. Will he sit here and watch his Kingdom fall apart in this very room? Watch his brothers fight each other while the true enemy is out there, laughing at them because they are nothing but a bunch of fools? Children playing adults.  
_I can make you strong, Minseok_.  
Do it then, he thinks and gives up. He isn’t strong enough to lead them all. He just isn’t.  
“War.”, he hears himself say out loud, voice strong and rough around the edges from the burning in his throat. “I want war and blood and revenge. We will not lose against the Dune. We are the leaders of Yongnian. We can not accept such a iniquity. Yifan, here you have your war. You are in charge now.”  
His brothers face lights up with joy while Lu Han groans, slumping in his seat and whispering: “So all of this was for nothing.”  
“Not for nothing.”, Minseok corrects him with the most gentle smile, but his voice is as cold as the winds of White Hall. “Yongnian has a strong King now. I will not be the weak link in this chain. Do not defy me, brother.”  
“Or what?”, Sehun snaps and turns in his seat. His eyes are burning with fire and Minseok feels his insides churn and twist. Like something wants to get out of his chest. Like he is itching to reach out and close his hands around his brothers throat. To kill him.  
“Or you will suffer the consequences of treason. Your Kings word is law.”, Minseok reminds him steadily and Sehun frowns.  
_I will make you strong again, child._

 

Things change.  
The world around them has changed ever since they were children. Wars were won and lost. Kings were crowned and then killed. Jongdae knows change when he sees it. He sees the change in the banners flying on the city walls, blue and white no longer silver. And he sees it in the gates locked, the people of Silver Haven trapped inside this city now. He watches the Red Guard patrol the town, watches Chanyeol take over the lead of the people and the everlasting search for smugglers and deserters. Old soldiers don’t fear the war, but young ones do. Children do.  
And Jongdae watches as the Kingdom changes, ripped apart by war once more. Minseok changes too. The Commander can see it. He sees it in his eyes, dull and almost black. Gone is the light, gone is the happiness from them. His door is locked, his voice is hard and Jongdae can’t even remember the taste of his lovers lips anymore. It gets worse with each passing day, the servants afraid of the wrath of an unforgiving King who refuses to eat, refuses to sleep, refuses to leave the castle.  
Jongdae sits by his table in the Guard hall, his chin resting on his folded fingers, elbows crumbling the papers he still needs to sign - papers, sentencing more young boys to death in this pointless war. Dune still claims innocence, still claims that this attempted assassination on King Minseok, first of his name, was not their doing.  
Jongdae believes them.  
Most of the people of Yongnian do.  
Minseok doesn’t.  
He wants blood and revenge and the King fuels his own fire with each passing day a little bit more. Weeks have passed since then and still the young Kings voice sounds like stones grating against each other, his mouth still tastes like blood. Jongdae remembers.  
He remembers Minseoks trembling body underneath his own, broken and bruised from his fall onto the floor. He remembers the way Minseok was clutching to him the last night they spent together, whispering into his ear that yes, he is his - like he did this one fateful night all those years ago. Right now it seems like a different life to Jongdae.  
Like the person who held Minseok, kissed him, rode out into the Stone Forest with him and wears this silver ring of the eternal bond on his finger, is someone else entirely.  
In a different lifetime, none of this would be happening, he tells himself.  
Minseok would be sitting by his side in a peaceful garden, not on this stone throne with this damned crown on his head. There would be no wall between them. Not like this.  
“I am King, Jongdae. This is my duty.”, Minseok told him a few days ago when Jongdae was begging him to stop this madness. To call off this war and save countless of lives.  
The door is locked ever since this conversation and Minseok refuses to see Jongdae. He refuses to talk to him, unless he really has to and he recoils from every touch.  
Nothing has ever hurt Jongdae like Minseok flinching away from his hand.  
Oh how he longs for the old times now, although he was the one who truly wanted this change in the beginning. Yongnian needed change. But not like this.  
A knock on his door rips apart the tranquility of his room, startling him and the papers crumble even more under his slipping elbows. He scrambles from his seat, crosses the room in three long steps and nearly rips open the door, face alight with the hope to see the one person he longs to meet again.  
It is not Minseok.  
Instead of the desired face he looks into the pale one of Prince Lu Han, framed by his long flowing brown hair. The front is tied back and braided skillfully on the sides of his head, the small knot on the back high enough to be seen from the front. He is wearing his traditional garments, long drapes of silk enveloping his small frame, the long sleeves hiding his hands.  
“Commander Jongdae.”, the Prince greets him with a small bow and Jongdae hurries to bow deeply, one hand still on the door.  
“My Prince.”, he greets stiffly, stepping aside when Lu Han motions into the room and passes him with graceful steps even though he is limping visibly and he is still walking on his cane.  
Jongdae dares to peek out into the hallway, but there is no one there.  
“I came alone.”, Lu Han says from behind him, sounding amused and Jongdae clears his throat before he closes the door and turns to face the Prince.  
Lu Han sits by the window, on the only vacant seat that is offered to the people visiting Jongdae in this chambers, his cane resting on his knees. His slim fingers are still gripping the handle of it, golden and delicate and Jongdae notices he is staring when Lu Han raises a single eyebrow at him, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards.  
“What can I do for you?”, Jongdae asks hastily and slowly walks over to his own chair, sinking into the cushions. He feels olds. He is not the one walking on a cane and still he feels old. Like the weight on his shoulders is too much for him to carry right now.  
“I am here on behalf of my brother.”, Lu Han informs him, his accent lilting and tinkling like a bell. Jongdaes head shoots up and although he is well aware that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, he does so nonetheless.  
“Minseok sent you here?”  
Lu Han hesitates, smile knowing and Jongdae fights down the need to blush. With a silent sigh, the Prince finally shakes his head. “He didn’t. He doesn’t talk to anyone right now. It is, among other things, a reason why I seek you out now, Commander.”  
“Oh.”, Jongdae makes and doesn’t resist the urge to fall back in his chair. “I see.”  
“I need you to talk to him.”, Lu Han states matter of factly and tries to cross his legs out of habit, before he looks down at his legs and narrows his eyes, forcefully lifting one of his knees with both his hands to place it over the other. The Prince winces and Jongdae can only imagine the pain racing through him right now. “Sehun is worried.”  
They all are, Jongdae thinks, but swallows his own words in order to nod, urging Lu Han to go on. The Prince takes a small breath and then looks to the side, out of the window and towards the gardens that separate the Guard halls from the palace. His eyes are sad, Jongdae notices while he studies his profile. And he knows that this man has seen too many things in his life already. God of death, they called him. The one who could defeat an entire army on his own, just him and his golden halberd.  
Not anymore. Not with that stiff knee.  
“I know what you are thinking, Commander.”, Lu Han mutters, but doesn’t turn his eyes away from the towers of Crown Hold. “You think, what can you do? Why come seek you out when we are his brothers? Why listen to that boy who knows nothing about this world?”  
“Sehun is my Prince too, Exalted. If he is worried, my Lord, then we all should be, right?”, Jongdae replies and Lu Han chuckles. He tucks a lock of his long hair behind his ear and then smiles at Jongdae directly and the Commander holds his breath.  
If one would be killed by this man, would they think they are looking at the God himself? What was it like to see this soft and small man transform into the deadliest warrior Yongnian has ever seen? Jongdae can’t imagine anything more frightening.  
“Say, Commander.”, the Prince finally starts, slowly cocking his head to one side, the smile on his lips turning from tender to amused. “Have you ever met Sehun? I mean, truly met? If he tells me, he is worried, then I will listen to him. I trust him.”  
“With your life, Majesty.”, Jongdae nods and Lu Han shakes his head, but he is not denying the Commanders words.  
“There was a time when Minseok trusted you with his life, Jongdae.”, Lu Han goes on and his tone is solemn, almost coldly so. “And I know you still trust him with yours.”  
Jongdae doesn’t need to answer this. It wasn’t a question and even if it were, the answer is written clearly all over his face. Lu Han makes a soft little noise and then goes on, as if Jongdae actually said something.  
“I need you to talk to him. Not as his Commander, but as his Confidant. As his friend and lover.”, Lu Han tells him and Jongdae nearly chokes on the words already forming in his mouth. The Princes face is all too knowing.  
“That silver ring is hard to ignore.”, he states and Jongdae blushes crimson.  
“I see.”  
Lu Han falls silent again, his thoughts clearly wandering as he lets his fingers glide over the faint silver scar on his wrist, face twisting into an ugly grimace before it smoothes out again.  
“You… could be the only one he is listening to, Jongdae… Or the one who is in the greatest danger of us all.”  
The words burn like acid in his ears and Jongdae has to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. His following words are straining against his own voice and he knows he is trembling from head to toe as he asks: “And you say this… why?”  
“Because Sehun told me.”, Lu Han answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Trust me, Commander. My younger half brother knows things we others don’t.”  
And Jongdae has seen enough things in this world to know, that sometimes it’s better not to question the royal family. And sometimes it’s better not to question Lu Han.  
“We will leave Silver Haven with the first light of dawn.”

Nights in Silver Haven are never peaceful and quiet. They are filled with boisterous laughter coming out of the taverns, with drunken singing in the streets, with the high tinkling laughter of the whores in the brothels, the angry screaming of a wife waiting for her husband to come home. The nights now are different though. They are eerily hushed now. The city is hidden underneath a cloak of sorrow now, no sound to be heard but the thundering of the Red River behind Low Town. Somewhere out there Chanyeol says his last goodbye to his beautiful whore, so Lu Han told him. Somewhere out there Sehun and Lu Han are packing their things to flee the city, following the feeling of the youngers Prince. They know that something horrible is about to happen, but none of them really knows, what it will be.  
Jongdaes heart feels heavy as he makes his way up the stairs from his quarters towards the royal chambers, walking through the vacant hallways of the empty castle.  
The servants refuse to enter this wing of Crown Hold at night, say that the King is talking to himself in his chambers as soon as the sun sets. But lately, they tell Jongdae, there is no talking. Just silent laughter creeping through the gaps in the door, the sound of porcelain and glass crashing against walls.  
The sound of Jongdaes fist knocking against Minseoks door is so loud, it could as well be a canon shot, echoing down the hallways and through the empty rooms around him.  
The noises inside the chamber stop, the door swings open.  
Minseok looks pale and thin, like a sheet of paper and Jongdae holds his breath as he meets his Kings eyes, dead and hollow. There is no smile adorning his beloved features, just emptiness.  
“Minseok.”, Jongdae says and flinches at the breaking sound of his own voice. “Can I…”  
The King steps aside without a single word, his eyes looking straight past the Commander and into the empty corridor behind him. The door swings shut and Jongdae feels like the doors of a cell just closed behind him. He feels trapped, not welcome, like he just stepped into a lions den. It’s a feeling he shouldn’t be feeling when he walks into his lovers room.  
“Why are you here?”, the smaller man asks and Jongdae feels his eyes burn with unshed tears, as he listenes to the burned out voice speaking to him now. Where is the life, the love?  
“I wanted to talk to you.”, Jongdae starts, but then softly corrects himself: “I wanted to see you. I miss you.”  
Something flickers across Minseoks features and when the King finally directs his gaze at them, there is something resembling the shadow of a ghost of his true self in it. His face seems to light up ever so slightly, his small little mouth falls slack into a soft little “oh”.  
The King looks small standing there in his robes, the garment a gift from Lu Han, long and flowing and nearly swallowing him whole. He looks like a child in this room, so elegant and furnished exquisitely. The crown sits perfectly on his tussled hair, shining in the light of hundreds of candles lit around them. There is untouched food on one of the tables, the silverware pristine and perfectly polished just like the younger mans crown.  
“Oh Minseok.”, Jongdae breathes out and dares to reach for his King, his Confidant, his lover. The bond between them feels like it’s sparking down Jongdaes arm when Minseok doesn’t step away, doesn’t recoil. He just stands there, looking lost and young and small, tilting his head into the tender touch to his cheek. “What have you done to yourself?”  
“I am King.”, comes the barely audible answer and Jongdae swallows around the laughing sob fighting its way through his throat. “I-”  
“Minseok.”, Jongdae interrupts him gently and the Kings mouth falls open again. Jongdae takes as small step forward and wraps an arm around the smallers shaking shoulders, pulling him in against his frame. “I really missed you.”  
“I’m sorry.”, Minseok whispers and his tears break his words into two. “I have to.”  
“You don’t.”, Jongdae shakes his head, presses a kiss to the crown of Minseoks hair, holding him close. It feels right and oh so wrong at the same time. As if he is holding someone else.  
“There is nothing you have to do right now, Minseok. When was the last time you have eaten? When the last time you slept?”  
“Can’t remember.”, comes the muttered answer and Minseok finally relaxes against him, leans his head against Jongdaes shoulder. “I can’t even remember what day it is.”  
“Stop this, my King. Please stop this madness.”  
And Jongdae knows those words were the wrong ones, when he feels the Kings body go rigid in his hold, feels fingernails bite into the skin of his naked arms. He goes entirely still, holding his breath as the man in his arms begin to hum softly, the sound almost like the howling of a wolf in the distance in the Stone Forest. It’s unsettling, macabre, almost sinister. This sound.  
It is not Minseok.  
“Madness.”, the King purrs and Jongdae shivers, tries to take a step back, but Minseok holds him tightly, as if he wants to cling to lifeline. “My power is not madness. Did the Alchemist ever tell the King of Kings that his power is madness? No, Jongdae. I was the traveler who found true leadership. The true meaning of the words King.”  
“Minseok please.”, Jongdae pleads now, breaking free of the others hold. “ You are talking in riddles. You are tired, my love. Let’s sleep. Let us talk in the morning. Please.”  
And then he reaches for the crown, his fingers already touching the metal that should be cool, but it burningly hot under his fingertips. He winces from the pain, drops his hands and attempts to step back again, when he notices that this pain racing through him isn’t caused by the crown he is holding between his hands. It comes from the silver knife buried deep inside his belly, twisting and drawing blood. Minseok is smiling sweetly up at him even as his fingers push the knife a little deeper. The King begins to cry.

It feels like he is watching the actions of somebody else, like he is the bystander watching other people act out a terrible play. Those are his fingers, the ring of eternal vow silver where it sits snugly on his ring finger. The silver is slowly turning red before his eyes as a surge of crimson starts to seep into the spaces between his fingers, flowing over his knuckles from where he is holding a blade in a white-knuckled grip. He watches the blood oozing out more and more the further the blade sinks into the soft flesh of Jongdaes belly - deeper, deeper and deeper and it twists with a sickening noise. Jongdae doesn’t make a sound.  
He just looks at Minseok with wide eyes, mouth opening and hands reaching out for him, one of them closing around Minseoks wrist to hold him still, but the force that drove Minseok to lift the blade and plunge it into Jongdaes belly is stronger. The knife sinks in to the hilt.  
And comes to a halt.  
They are looking at each other now as the blood is dripping over Minseoks hand and over Jongdaes now too, fingers trembling and breaths held.  
“This crown is _mine_.”, Minseok whispers - but it’s not his voice talking. It sounds wrong. Hoarse and scratchy and too deep and Jongdaes eyes flutter closed and then open again.  
Minseok knows he is crying, feels the hot salty tears running over his cheeks and over his lips, burning in the cuts where he chewed on them for hours on end.  
“You are not fit to touch it.”  
_This crown will forever be mine._  
He feels like there is a hand around his throat, squeezing tight and blocking the air from flowing into his lungs and he struggles to breathe, struggles to take in air. But he can’t.  
He can’t because Jongdaes eyes are pleading for him to stop, for him to withdraw.  
What he did just now is irreversible.  
The knife comes free from Jongdaes flesh with a wet sound, more blood gushing from the wound like the water comes flowing out of the fountains in the wide gardens behind the castle. And Jongdae stumbles. He stumbles backwards, hand pressed over his belly while the other reaches out for Minseok.  
His eyes are still pleading and Minseok wants to reach out for him, wants to hold him and beg his forgiveness, but his body is frozen in place and he feels his face twist into a smirk.  
It’s an unfitting grimace for him.  
He sobs even though his mouth is still smiling and the bloody knife is still clutched in his hand and he watches Jongdae fall against the banister of the chambers balcony, crimson wet smearing over white marble and golden decoration. His Confidant is gasping for air, more blood splattering on his white linen shirt when he coughs. Little droplets on white.  
It reminds Minseok of this one time he cut his finger on the lithic bark of a tree and Jongdae hurried over to his side to clean the wound and wrap it a strip of his shirt.  
Crimson on white. Blood in the snow.  
“I love you.”, Jongdae breathes out and Minseok slowly lifts a hand to take the one still reaching out for him and then he hears himself say: “Long live the King _. I_ am King.”  
When he lets go there is a scream tearing itself free from his throat, full of agony and pain, his gore smudged fingers slipping over Jongdaes and ripping off the ring of eternal vow, the silver clattering to the floor and rolling away while the Confidant slowly falls over the banister and into the darkness. He doesn’t even scream. And then he is gone.  
_I am King. I will always be King._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn I had trouble writing this chapter. When I started planning this story it was planned in a totally different way and now look at his. I have no control over these guys anymore. F*ck.... Okay so I am not completely and 100% satisfied with how this came along, but hey. I know with the current level of stress I have right now I won't fix it if I start editing. One day maybe. Please have mercy on me <3

 

The Kingdom of Yongnian was once nothing but a small village, hidden between the valleys of the rich and soft lands of the Southern hills. It’s borders were spanning from the coast of the Silver Haven, all the way to the Golden Tides - a land where milk and honey were flowing. Barely anybody alive remembers that time, for it is long forgotten and gone, washed away with the waves of time. Barely any books tell the story of the first King, crowned in the times of need and war, the clans of the vast and wide land of Yongnian crowning not their strongest, but their wisest Lord to lead them into war against the Sandlands of Dune. 

It’s an old tale, an old hate that separates those two Kingdoms from these long forgotten days on until now. The beginnings of the now striving country, the united people of the continent, a stronghold against the dry desert and its people. 

And barely anybody remembers the age of magic, the spells woven deep into the earth and water of Yongnian, the curses on the Red River and the blessings spoken over Brightblade, the last castle in the South. The scholars of Yongnian have long agreed, that this old magic is nothing but old womens talk, nothing but a nice tale to tell children at night. 

The bonds that hold you tight between their fingers when you pledge your loyalty with a vow, the old magic that binds you to your loved one the moment you speak the words of the eternal bond. 

The silver ring lays forgotten on the balcony of the royal chambers, shining in the sunlight where it rolled away into the shadow of a fateful night, a single droplet of crimson red blood dripping over its edge and drying on the marble of the floor, forming a twisted image of the endless circle of love the ring used to represent.   
It’s forgotten where it lays there, right on the edge under the banister, close to tumbling into the abyss, following its owner into the thundering waves and the white foam and spindrift of the raging Red Water Sea. The port of Silver Haven is an abandoned, joyless place at this time of the day, the sun just rising behind the ocean, its rays illuminating the high towers of Crown Hold, tinting the tips of the high spiraling building a golden yellow.   
The ships are still in the breeze, swaying back and forth, no sailor to be seen. Only a single ship is leaving the port, sails bearing the signet of the Golden Lord as Lu Han looks back at the castle with tears streaming down his face. He imagines he can see his brother standing on his balcony, looking after him, but he knows that it’s not the truth.   
Somewhere up there Minseok has hidden away in the shadows of his corridors, mumbling to himself. This is all his fault, he thinks to himself as he turns his back on what he thought was the future of Yongnian, the right path to walk on. And yet they are all doomed to relive the same horrors they did under his father. If he could, he would rip Minseok off that thrones with his own hands, but he can’t. He has sworn loyalty, has sworn to serve his King. And he will. 

Even if it means that he has to betray him.   
“It’s not him.”, Sehun says quietly by his side, his voice tinged with regret and sorrow. “This isn’t him. I... “  
“I know.”, Lu Han tells his brother, looking at the stained rags tossed down by the banister leading down into the chambers he sleeps in. The bed down there is occupied and it’s Lu Hans fault too. It’s all his fault.   
“It isn’t.”, Sehun hisses angrily and grabs his arm, hauling him back and turning him to face the younger Prince, whose eyes hold the most burning anger, Lu Han has ever seen.  
“This is not your fault. Stop telling yourself that it is.”  
Lu Han wants to avoid Sehuns gaze all of a sudden, wants to direct his eyes down to his feet and although he is the older Prince between the two of them, he feels small and vulnerable under the scrutinizing look of his brother. He grips his cane a little tighter and bites his bottom lip, Sehuns eyes boring into his.   
“I will find out what is going on.”, the black haired Prince decides resolutely and Lu Han nods slowly, reaching out and placing a hand on the taller mans wrist, squeezing it softly right where he knows the other bears the same scars as he does. A perfect silver line of the point of his ever beating pulse.   
“We have to take care of this mess. Our brother can’t.”  
“Yes.”, Sehun states and takes a step forward, almost bridging the distance between their bodies and Lu Han holds back the need to wrap his arms around the tallers neck and bring him in. It’s not the time for this right now, but Sehun is standing close enough to him that he can smell the pines and the always present burning wood that clings to the Princes skin.   
“I will do what I can.”, Sehun whispers and in a moment of weakness, Sehun brings up his hand and brushes it against Lu Hans shoulder, ignoring all the curious eyes lingering on them. 

“I trust you.”

  
  


Minseok watches himself scrub at his hands, watches Jongdaes blood tint the water in the crystal bowl a faint red color. His sleeves are stained and he feels like there are tears burning in his eyes, but he is calm. His fingers aren’t shaking, he isn’t sobbing. He is screaming on the inside, raging against the cage he feels like his mind is trapped in, as if he is rattling on the bars to his own personal hell.   
"I promised to make you strong.”, his own voice tells him and he looks up at the mirror above the small table by the wall, his own face smirking back at him.  
It looks so wrong.   
“I make you strong with this, Minseok. You are nothing but a child, always controlled by others. It wasn’t your own choice to come and kill your father, it was Jongdaes. Don’t you see that he was the one pulling the strings attached to you? We got rid of him now.”Minseok wants to tell this _thing_ that has over first his body and now his mind, that he loves Jongdae, that Jongdae is the only thing keeping him save and sane, but his lips are sealed shut, instead of talking just grinning at him like a mad man out of the polished Dragon Glass. 

“Don’t cry, child. Crying is something for women and children. You are neither now.”

The only form of control Minseok still has over himself is scrubbing his fingers raw underneath the water in the bowl, watching as the skin peels away from his fingers until he is bleeding and he can’t see the glinting of the silver on his finger anymore. 

Jongdae is gone, Minseok realizes with another wave of grief crashing over his head and he sinks deeper into the oblivion of the blackness of his mind. He wishes he would be gone too.

  
  


“My King.”, the young soldier standing in front of Minseoks throne, looking frazzled and tired, his white cloak draped artfully over his shoulders and around his neck, held together by the silver snowflake all the members of the White Guard wear, dirty on the bottom seam, little sprinkles of something that looks like blood across the center. Like a different kind of banner, Minseok thinks grimly while his body moves on the seat, so out of his own control. 

“Prince Chanyeol has been wounded in battle.”

The King stay silent and the soldier moves, obviously uneasy where he stands, his eyes flickering around the room where the lines of Minseoks council stand rigid and quiet like statues. Some of them mutter and whisper amongst each other, the news of Chanyeols injury making them move around them like the ocean. It starts silent but it grows louder, some of them reminding the men and women in the giant throne room of that time Prince Lu Han got harmed on the battlefield and lost the ability to fight. 

In another war with the Dune, Yongnian can’t afford to lose another Prince, another Lord and another army. The only thing standing between the Dune and Silver Haven itself - in case both Yifan and Chanyeol would fall and their legions were lost - would be the White Guard and the army of the King himself. It wouldn’t be enough. 

Minseok can almost feel the panic rising in the council and the thing inside of him bathes in it. It’s snickering in glee inside Minseoks head, the sound sickening him to the core and he recoils from it, caving in on himself when the presence he can now clearly feel inside of him reach out for him as if to caress his cheek. Like Jongdae always did.

It’s  _ enjoying  _ it. 

The panic, the fear written all over their faces. 

“Exalted.”, the soldier presses on and Minseoks mind snaps back to attention, his lips curling back in what could be a smile, but is more of a sneer. “The physicians on the front fear that he lost an eye. He won’t be able to fight anymore.”

“So?”, Minseok answers the man and the council holds their breaths. “Stitch him up and send him back into battle. We can’t lose another Prince. We need his strategic mind there. Lu Han is useless to us, now that he has left us like a coward.”

“Sire.”, a Lady of the council, standing tall and elegant to his right, reminds him patiently. “You have sent the Golden Lord back to Sunskeep yourself, just a few weeks ago.”

Minseok wants to cackle in victory, but the answer spoken by his voice is cold and hard. 

“Lu Han should be out there protecting the Kingdom. It is his duty.”

“Very well, Exalted.”, the Lady - Sooyoung, Minseok remembers - mutters and bows her head, but the presence notes the defiance sparkling in her eyes. “We shall send a letter to the front then.”

Minseok nods, leaning back in his seat and waves a hand at the solider, who bows so hastily, he nearly drops his helmet and then turns on his heel to flee the throne room. 

The silence that takes over the hall is tense and Minseok shudders in horror at how the thing inside his chest is curling and purring and scratching at his insides. 

It hurts.

His whole body hurts.

“My King.”, a voice calls for his attention from the side, but Minseok can’t really make out who has spoken. He just sits motionless on his throne and enjoys the pressing weight of the crown sitting heavy like a stone on his forehead. The skin there is raw and red, chafed open by the bronze and gold. 

“We need to end this war.”

“When we have taken over the Dune, we shall end this war.”, Minseok replies easily, flicking a hand upwards, as if to brush away the words spoken to him. “We have decided to take over the Kingdom of the Sandlands to add it to our own. Yongnian needs to become stronger for the things coming towards us in the future. We need every man we can get for when the Dragons return to Yongnian. We are considering to sacrifice the people not belonging to our kin in the first waves of attack.”

“The Dragons-”, someone starts, but the ruckus erupting in the throne room is drowning out most of the said. Minseok watches it all with his face schooled into a bored expression, hands resting on the marble of the throne on each side of himself. 

“We dismiss you now.”, Minseok says loudly and gets up from the throne, the movements as graceful as they never were and he feels like a puppet on someone elses strings. He is. 

“We are tired and shall rest now.”   
“But Exalted!”, someone yells and Minseok hears steps coming up the stairs behind him. He doesn’t turn to look at whoever is approaching him and eventually the steps stop, only a few feet away from him. “My King, please! You are sacrificing your brothers out there! This is- my Lord, our people are starving in the streets. They are suffering! It’s like your father is-”

“Our father is dead, Lord. We are King now. Let the people suffer then. This all is for a greater good. You can’t see the greater good if you are complaining.”

It seems his final words are like a slap to the councils faces, all of them suddenly quiet as a grave, like statues again. The being chuckles inside Minseok and curls a little tighter around his chest, suffocating Minseok in his tiny cage. 

“Lord Commander Jongdae would tell you the same.”, the man whispers behind Minseok and his heart stutters, pauses on a beat. His body trembles, caught between stepping away and staying still. Minseok rattles on the bars of his cell. 

His heart hurts, his body hurts. He is aching - the memory of Jongdaes face in those last seconds before he tumbled off the edge and fell into the darkness haunting Minseoks worst nightmares, waking his anger and he feels like his bones are breaking with how hard he is fighting against the claws clutching his consciousness and the strings holding him. 

“If only he was here.”, someone else dares to say and Minseoks head snaps up. The crown slips over the open skin on his forehead and the pain gets Minseok moving. 

“But he isn’t.”, he spits and then storms out of the throne room, slamming the double doors behind him. It’s a finaling sound. 

  
  


The pain races through his body like fire, sizzling under his skin and he feels like he is blistering all over. The crown is burning on his head, like it’s singeing his hair and he wants to rip it off, but he can’t. The door to his chambers flies open and he kicks it shut again, tearing at his clothes, at his hair - but never at the crown. Almost like it’s a part of his body and he can’t get it off. It would be like pulling his own guts out. 

He is breathing hard when he is standing in front of the full length Dragon Glass mirror, sweat beating on his temples and hurting like acid in the open areas under his crown. 

The man in the mirror doesn’t look like him. 

His cheeks are sunken in, his eyes look hollow - like someone just pulled skin over a skull and forgot to fill in the gaps with flesh. His ribs are visible, dark shadows between each little dip, the muscles of his stomach straining and slowly fading. 

This body looks like the ghost of him. 

He begins to cry - in a rare moment of clarity that opens the door to his cage - when he turns around and brushes his fingers over the hills of his spine, framed by bruises, arms awkwardly bent so his wiry fingers can reach the bones sticking from his flesh and under his skin. The bruises - yellow and purple and blue, different shades of red - are shaped like fingers too. Like something is trying to get out. Out of his body.

He screams when his own fingers begin pulling him apart. Skin, flesh, bones. 

Minseok thinks he might as well go up in flames. 

  
  


The land is wide around him, miles melting under the hooves of his horse as Sehun rides away from Sunskeep, the castle Brightblade growing smaller and smaller in the distance behind him as the sun is high in the sky, illuminating the rich fields of golden wheat around him. The Golden Tides are always filled with the sound of crashing waves against the shore and Sehun has long gotten used to it. He still remembers the sleepless nights when he got here, the land so different from the Barren Hills, too loud, too humid, the air always salty and muggy and moist on his skin. He hated this land, hated his father for sending him here, hating the  _ cripple  _ who was supposed to teach him how to become a Lord and a warrior. 

He loathes himself for thinking those things - now, that he is older, now that he  _ knows.  _

Sehun has learned to accept things, here at Golden Tides. By Lu Hans side.

He accepted that he can’t fight who he is, what he can do. 

Maybe he hates himself for breaking the promise he made to Lu Han the night they got back from Silver Haven, leaving the ship with heavy hearts and heavy hands, swaying on steady ground like drunken sailors, their bodies used to the gentle rocking of the ship.

He promised not to go back there, but he just  _ knows  _ that he has to.

It’s him, the urging inside of him told him that very night he voiced that promise to his half brother. It’s him who has to stop all this. And if he has to kill Minseok, then be it. 

If he dies because of it, then be it. 

But he can’t risk sacrificing another life in this war, not a single one. 

Not Chanyeol, not Yifan, not Lu Han and not Minseok. If only he could save them all, but maybe he can’t. Yes, Sehun learned to accept fate, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still try to change it. 

This can’t be fate, he says to himself as the hooves of his horse become the only sound to him, the movement underneath his body lulling him into a trance like state. 

Minseok is their hope for a better future, he remember Lu Han saying and he still believes in those words. Because they are true. He knows they are true because whatever this is that is happening, it happened before. It happened to their father, to those who became King. 

His mother told him. 

She told him while running long slender fingers through his hair by the fireside, feeding him little roasted nuts she was picking directly out of the crackling flames. The Barren Hills remember. They always do. 

It’s in their blood - the memory, the magic. 

“I did not send our brothers off into battle against our father, just for your to run and present your head to this danger again, Sehun.”, Lu Han had whispered to him on the terrace just above the small courtyard of Brightblade, the very same courtyard where Sehun was trained - it feels like this was ages ago, when in reality not even two years have passed since then. 

Sehun feels the same old dread creep up inside of him when he thinks about those days, how spiteful and insulting he was back then towards the man who he learned to respect so deeply, he feels like it’s engraved into his skin. Just like the scars he shares with Lu Han now. He doesn’t dwell on it. He can’t allow himself to lose focus, can’t allow himself to drown in the disgust he felt and sometimes still feels when he thinks about the desire that burns hotly in his gut when ever he lays eyes on his brother.

Fate is a funny thing, the voice of his mother echoes in his memories as Sehun passes the border between Golden Tides and Red River Falls, the day trickling away with the beginning of a storm passing over the sky, little drops of rain splattering against his light traveling armor. His eyes find the horizon to his left, where he knows the border to the Dunes is only two days ride away, then to his left, where the Red River is curling lazily through the landscape like a giant glittering snake. 

This Kingdom is being ripped apart, his mind provides him with this ghostly voice that seems to always rumble inside of him and Sehun feels the fire creep into his eyes as he presses the heels into the sides of his horse, urging the stallion to ride faster. 

He doesn’t have time to be lost in thoughts. 

There is a Kingdom he has to save. 

  
  


He is woken up by the sound of something breaking and ripping, like wet flesh being separated from bones and he startles, nearly rolling out of bed and onto the cold stone floor of his chambers. White hot pinpricks bloom under his skin as his body refuses its service for him once more and he lays immobile between the sheets of his bed, tangled in silk that sticks to his skin uncomfortably. He breathes hard through his nose, works his jaw back and forth as if he is chewing on his own tongue, tastes blood and grime and something resembling ash. His ribs are moving under his skin, he can feel it and see it too in his peripheral vision. Like something is pushing against them from inside him and Minseok groans in pain, tries to roll onto his back, but he can’t move. 

His strings are cut off and he lays there on the mattress in his too big chambers, not even able to call for help. There is blood on his pillow, little pieces of skin like snowflakes on the fabric, pink against the subtle stitching. His arms are littered in what could be bloody lightnings, welts ripped into his flesh by his own fingernails and suddenly a picture flashes before his inner eye - the last image of his father he has burned into the back of his mind. 

A broken man, dressed in the ceremonial gowns of Kings, ready to be buried. 

He looked so broken in his stone coffin, skinny hands crossed over the hilt of his sword, his wiry hair still a little tainted by his own blood. Minseok thinks about the scratches and bruises all over his fathers body, about the thought that welled up inside his chest that maybe those wounds were inflicted by his own mother as she fought for her life. 

Suddenly the knowledge dawns on him, that those injuries were inflicted by the King himself. 

_ Don’t you worry your pretty little mind, my son. Soon it will all be over for you.  _

Minseok whimpers quietly, skin chafing against sheets and he feels like he is skinned alive by the movement, his body rising from the bed and stretching lazily, joints popping and bones moving underneath muscles and flesh. 

He dresses himself in front of the mirror, watches himself move and smirk as his features slowly morph into something else in front of his very eyes, shadows flashing across his face, in the hollows of his body, creating what he thinks could be tiny roses surrounded by thorns. 

It’s the markings of the crown spreading across his body and Minseok wishes he would have never touched it. 

“Don’t worry.”, his reflection tells him gently and fingers card through his hair in a caress he wants to flinch away from. “You won’t remember anything in the darkness. You will find peace, Minseok. You can leave now. We will reign in your place.”

No, he wants to say loudly, wants to kick his feet and fight against it, but he can’t. He can’t because he is rendered motionless and still behind bars, the blackness already reaching for him. The black robes fall across his chest, closed with little silver chains, rubies and sapphires attached to each tiny buckle, shining in the light of candles and the sun. 

Minseok is afraid of each sunrise now - he is afraid of time. 

  
  


His sisters hand feels warm against his own, her nimble fingers fitting into the spaces between his own, even though Minseoks fingers are nothing but bones and skin stretched thin over knuckles, the skin rough and breaking. 

Byulyi was nothing but a girl when Minseok left her at White Hall, was nothing but a girl inside his memories. She isn’t any longer. She resembles their mother so much, it makes his chest ache, his eyes burn and his tongue feel like stone. Her hair is pinned up in curls on the back of her head, braided from her temples to the back, her eyes lined with coal. 

She squeezes his hand, slipping her fingers out from between his and then twines them together again, rubbing her thumb across the back of his knuckles tenderly. 

“Brother.”, she whispers, trying to get his attention, but Minseoks mind feels numb. The presence inside of him has left him feeling empty as it vanished with the touch of his sister, with her arms around his body and he slumped against her - his puppeteer gone. 

He is once again sitting in his high chair out by the gardens, head leaned back and eyes empty even as he takes in the chatoyant beauty of his flowers blooming all around him. 

“Brother.”, she repeats, a little bit more pleading and Minseok wants to look at her, wants to see her face and remember their mother, remember the careless days of childhood he spent with her in White Hall. 

How often have they hidden from their mother and the Guards, giggling to themselves as they sat in the back of the giant closet in Byulyis room, ripping apart her least favorite dress with Jongdaes knife to craft little torches. 

Fear suddenly bubbles up inside of him again. He doesn’t remember calling for her, doesn’t remember sending a letter for her to come to Silver Haven. Was it like this for his father too, when he sent for Minseoks mother to have her beheaded? 

Did he have no control over his own body either? 

“I will make you strong.”, the voice told him when Minseok thought this weight on his shoulders was too much to carry. Cutting his ties, cutting his bonds, killing all the people he loves. Is this what it means to be strong? To be without a vulnerable spot?

“My beloved… Where is Jongdae?”, Byulyi asks next to him and Minseok twitches. His fingers flex and he manages to let his eyes flicker down to the silver ring snugly fit around his finger where it’s wedged between hers. How many days have passed since he last saw his Confidants face? How many days since he plunged that blade into his lovers flesh and watched him die? Gods, how he misses his face, his smile, his arms around his body. 

The security of it, the reassurance. 

His heart begins to hurt again and he shifts in the seat, almost ripping his hand away from his sisters touch. He wishes for the darkness to swallow him again all of a sudden. 

For the promised oblivion. The waters of forgetfulness. He doesn’t want this aching and pain anymore. All Minseok right now is for all of this to stop, for his soul to be at ease, to be free. 

_ Let me be free and you shall too,  _ whispers into his ear like wind brushing through leafs. 

_ Let me go, Minseok.  _

It’s so tempting - to just listen to the voice and let go of his own life to forget and let the dark swallow him whole. But he doesn’t. He fights back, swallows the bile rising in his throat and bares his teeth at it, struggling and kicking and scratching and screaming and he takes a deep breath as he manages to break free from the claws of immobility. 

Byulyi jolts next to him, eyes wide and round, her thin lips opened in a soft round and he grabs her hand a little tighter as he gets up from his chair and sways on his feet. 

“My King!”, his sister exclaims in alarm and Minseok shakes her off, shakes her head too and starts staggering away, aimed towards the royal rooms and his balcony. 

The stairs feel endless under his feet, like he is walking for hours on end, each step agonizing and making him stumble. His knees feel wobbly, his muscles like they are filled with water. His breath is going hard, his heart is thundering in his ear, but he refuses each attempt Byulyi makes to steady him. Each time her hands reach for him he snarls at her, reaching for the walls as a form of support. 

This is his walk of shame, his walk or redemption. He has to expiate for what he did, what he does. If this is his last walk towards the chambers, then be it. If he dies like this, then the world will have a new King. Another mad King killed by the weight of Yongnian pulling him down. He sneers at his own thoughts, chuckles as the being inside of him starts clawing at his insides and bloods starts trickling down his chin. 

The door crashes open under the weight of his entire body as he falls against it, the lock breaking and wood splintering. It’s cold in here and Byulyi makes a sound of discomfort, as does Minseok. The voice screeches and clamors in his chest, twisting and ripping and shredding Minseok from the inside out. He watches the skin on his arms turn purple with invisible fingers gripping him tightly, holding him back. But it’s like his soul is caught in rebelling against this all, rearing up against the forces of evil and he goes on, swaying and stumbling and panting. 

He falls against the banister just like Jongdae did that night - how many days ago was this? - bracing himself against the marble and golden inlays and he feels Byulyis hands on his back, gripping his robes. 

“Brother- Minseok! What are you doing?”

“Ending this.”, he breathes, his voice raspy and rough from going unused for hours. “I will set an end to this all, beloved sister. Don’t stop me.”

“Minseok!”, she begs clinging to him as it dawns on her what he is about to do, arms wrapping tightly around his body and the voice shines in glee inside of him. “Please don’t.”

“I-”, he starts and then sees something glinting out of the corner of his eye. In his peripheral vision it’s like a beacon of light, a ray of sun caught on the floor and he drops to his knees to reach for it, his thin and trembling fingers closing around the ring of eternal vow. 

“I killed him.”, he sobs and the tears begin to flow. His soul is ripped in two in this moment, he thinks as the realization comes crashing in like never before. The ring on his palm is covered in dried blood, the silver barely visible and he closes his fist around it as the voice croons into his ear in an all too alluring tone. 

_ End this pain, child. Let go. _

Minseok isn’t strong enough to refuse anymore. 

Minseok doesn’t feel anything anymore.

Not when he looks into his sisters eyes, red and puffy from crying bitter tears, faint red tracks down her cheeks, a salty teardrop dripping over her lips and rolling down her chin to fall and land on the golden collar adorning her neck like a slaves choker. It seeps into her skin there, leaving a darker spot in the blue of her dress. Minseok sees all this - but it doesn’t touch him. 

He doesn’t know what exactly he let go of, but he did. 

And it feels good. It’s strange, honestly. How there is no emotion inside of him, but at the same time his soul feels light and free and shining with light. A slowly fading light, yes, but he doesn’t think it’s a loss. A man who killed his lover, his Confidant, is not worth to live any longer. But Yongnian needs a King and if…. 

He stops in his thoughts, loses track of them and lets them vanish with a breath he exhales through his mouth, letting it dissolve like silver bubbles in his darkness. 

His sisters mouth is moving and he is sure she is talking, but he doesn’t hear her voice. 

Here exists nothing, he says to himself and curls in around the little light he has left. 

Nothing but the black waters surrounding him and the bubbles of air floating around him like crystal spheres, all of them like little mirrors around him. Windows to a different world. 

Minseok always felt strange - moving without doing it consciously, speaking with a voice that sounds like his own but isn’t. Now everything feels feather light and meaningless, not a single thing mattering to him anymore. It’s bliss. Pure bliss floating through his body and taking hold of every nook and cranny of his mind, of every corner of his being.

He hears a name whispered in the back of his head, the voice ever so faintly familiar, like warm honey drizzling over baked pies, like warm cinnamon wine on his tongue after a night spent out in the snow, sitting in his hollow tree. It’s a pleasant sound, no title attached, no honorific. Just his name, spoken in the softest of tones, in the most gentle caress of sounds. He leans into it, like a touch to his cheek and closes his eyes, lets his consciousness float inside the bubbles and the water, his hair like an auburn halo around his head. 

Minseok imagines fingers stroking softly over his hair, the bridge of his nose, the apple of his cheek and although he still feels his own fingers tangled in a mess of auburn locks, slightly lighter than his own in color, he ignores it and tries to get lost in the feeling and the sound inside of his cocoon. 

There is stone under his feet, he can feel it, the steady noise of his feet against the steps leading down the long winding staircase towards the dining hall, the throne room, the throne room and eventually the courtyard in the back of the castle of Crown Hold, where his hand finally lets go of Byulyis hair, all but tossing her into the dust. 

Minseok tries not to be touched by it. He tries to turn his head away, to look the other direction and ignore all the things around him,  _ because he let go, _ but he is frozen, rooted to the spot and forced to watch through the small window the silver bubbles form around him. 

It’s like the gentle touch he felt before now turned into the feeling of iron biting into his skin, like fingers clutching his chin and turning his head, hot words whispered into his ear and the voice sounds like Jongdae, biting and hard and cold. Minseok shivers. 

His fingers close around the hilt of a dagger hidden in the folds of his robes, the blade long and slightly curved, rubies glittering in the light of the day as he stands above his crying sister, clutching the front of his pants, begging him soundlessly for mercy. 

The panic written in her eyes speaks louder than her words - still mute to Minseoks ears. 

He feels his own lips moving, stretching into a grin and he is confused for seconds ticking by, his heart thundering in his throat. He should not be feeling this. 

He should feel nothing. 

The blade rises higher and Minseok watches, studies the elegant bow of the edge, imagines what it would like with red blood painting it a different color. He balls his fists, sees his fingers flex around the golden hilt, his knuckles turning white. He is in control.

When the blade comes down to slice through his sisters bared throat, Minseok grits his teeth, willing all the remainders of his mind to take over, steering the path of the knife away from the soft flesh of the woman kneeling in front of him and a flash of triumph zips through him at the same time the pain does. The cut is deep, the tip sinking into his thigh and ripping open his soft leather pants. Minseok wants to laugh in glee as the presence inside of him screams - screams out loud in anger, whips them both around and lets go of the knife. It clutters to the floor, a ruby breaking free of its socket and rolling away, splattered in red. 

“No.”, he snarls and at the same time he answers: “Yes.”

One last look towards his sister has his eyes burning in fury, but the rage welling up inside of him is a different kind of animosity. He should have thrown himself off that balcony. 

He should have ended this. 

Minseok can’t be the reason the people he loves die around him, he decides once more, a promise he made a long time ago. He vowed to Jongdae to follow him into the oblivion and embrace of death, the moment he slipped that ring onto his finger. 

The being rips at it now, tries to get the silver off his skin, but it’s stuck there, like it’s a part of him, grown into his flesh and where his skin is red and raw and open from the crown chaffing away at his head, the skin around the ring turns bloody too now, like it refuses to budge. 

Minseok stumbles where he stands, like he is fighting a shadow, clawing at his own skin and ripping himself open, tearing out hair and flesh and biting his tongue bloody, crimson dripping down his skin because he is chewing on words and curses. 

If this is what happened to his father, Minseok was wrong. He was wrong to kill the old man, he was wrong to spit out his name like it was a vile thing, he was wrong to think his father was weak. He himself is the weak one.

He tears through the darkness and back into his cage, rattling the bars and breaking his own fingers as he does so, his physical body twisting and turning where he stands, screaming and cursing and spitting out venom and the light grows brighter, brighter, brighter. Minseok will go up in flames, he thinks as he pushes himself further. He will perish with the light. 

The abyss is near, he feels. It’s right there, like a door inside his head and he just has to push it open, dragging the being down with him into the nothing. If he let go and they became one, then he can pull on his strings and bring the puppeteer down with him.

The door falls open underneath his hands and Minseok steps through, the voice roaring. 

  
  


Wind is ripping on his hair and clothes, making them billow out around him like wings, the sleeves of his tunic ripping with the biting sand that whips around him, circling high and up into the sky. Minseok stands in the center of a storm, breathes in clean air and grains of sand. The land around him in nothing but a plane, wide and spanning from one horizon to the other, centered by the storm raging around him. 

He moves, takes a step forward and sinks down into the sand, so deep he can barely move, the sand filling up his shoes and the leg of his pants up to his knee where he is stuck in the moving desert. He falls, braces himself on his hands and pulls, coughing up dry air and dust, rubbing furiously at his eyes as he makes his way forward, on and on and on. He crawls on his hands and knees, loses one of his boots, the sand swallowing it up greedily. The center comes closer, so close that the wind lets up, the noise around him quieting down. 

There are shadows moving behind the moving dust, black behind the yellow and red of flying sand and Minseok fights against the need to go lax and let the tornado suck him up. He craves the feeling of lightness again, suddenly. Weightlessness. 

It’s so hard to fight against the pull. He wishes back the darkness of his own mind - a silver sun glaring down at him making his skin feel tight and his eyes hurt. 

The feeling is so wrong but it is oh so right at the same time, the awareness that this is himself and not someone else controlling him pulsing through him like liquid heat.

He manages to come to his feet again, his legs wobbling and each step slipping away from underneath him on the unsteady ground. The shadows grow taller in front of him with each step he takes, soon towering high above him and nearly blocking out the glaring sun. 

There is no sound here now, Minseok notices as he watches the dust move around him, just floating in the air without much motion. Time stands still in this place, he thinks as he reaches the giant stone rising from the sand and looming above him. 

It’s white stone, almost as white as the trees of the Stone Forest, cold to the touch of Minseoks palm to the smooth surface. There are fine lines engraved into it, swirling patterns that reach all the way around it and up towards the tip, broken off and rough. 

As he tips his head back into his neck to look up towards it, there are pieces of stone breaking away under the force of the invisible wind, rolling down and breaking, becoming sand that is ripped away by the storm. Under Minseoks palm heat blooms up, the stone caving in under his touch. 

At first it feels like he is becoming faint, the slightest dizziness swimming behind his eyes, then it’s like missing one step on a flight of stairs, a feeling like falling deep in his guts and then Minseok is sinking down into the sand, the white rock sliding away under the tips of his fingers and for a moment he thinks that maybe the stone is rising, but then - in a moment where time stands still and Minseok feels like he is tipping backwards - he realizes that he is the one moving, not the stone. He is sinking into the sand, deeper and deeper and before the faintest feeling of panic can rise inside of him, he is already swallowed up to the hip. 

The sand is hot and cool at the same time, soft to the touch where it should be gravely and hard against his skin, but he feels more like sinking into water than the desert ground.

He expects darkness to surround him, but what actually waits for him is almost breathtakingly beautiful. 

Spheres of light, little dots on indigo blue, a sky filled with stars that are moving in a swirling circle around him - towers so high they are frozen at the top as Minseok falls past them. 

The towers look faintly familiar to him, like a version of Crown Hold Minseok has never seen, but the windows are different, higher and more narrow, the blinds carved artfully and adorned with glittering lights, crystals and diamonds. 

He doesn’t even notice he is falling, racing towards the ground, towards a certain death he has wished to embrace him only a few hours- or is it days? - ago. There is no ground, his mind tells him when he just keeps falling, falling, falling. 

The towers grow taller above his head, the sky vanishes behind their white washed walls, illuminated by the ghostly light of a full moon hanging round and sickly in the cloudless dark above his head as the world spins and turns around him.

“Immortality is a fickle thing.”, he hears someone say, the words echoing around the world Minseok is floating in right now “You don’t know what comes with it. The loneliness you will experience, the knowledge that everything and everyone around you will die. And then the realization comes. You are a god walking amongst men.”

For seconds the howling wind brushing between the walls of the towers is the only thing Minseok can hear. He falls, spins around himself and watches the buildings race past him, his hair whipping around his face. It’s strangely warm here, Minseoks mind tells him. The wind should be biting and cold against his skin, but it’s not.

Some of the towers are covered in sheets of ice, snow glittering on the golden tops that grow small and distant the deeper Minseok falls into this reality. It’s still all inside his head, he says, trying to calm his thundering heart. 

Under him a Kingdom grows, he watches it bloom from nothing but dust, like he is looking down onto a map of Yongnian itself, watches the waters of the Red River turn maroon with the blood of a thousand infants killed to wipe out entire bloodlines of traitors. 

He watches cities being built and then fall, going up in flames as giant shadows hover above them, spitting fire. He remembers the words of his teachers, telling him about the legends of their Kingdom, of the history nobody can remember anymore because all the people who saw it with their own eyes have long passed and withered away. 

It’s the birth of Yongnian itself, happening right before his eyes as he drops into the void, the weight of his very soul pulling him down towards the hills just outside the walls of Silver Haven, a giant statue rising on the horizon behind him, the city around it burning and falling to ashes. Minseok draws in air, breathes in hard as the courtyard of Crown Hold rushes up to meet him and he brings up his arms on reflex to guard his face, his eyes screwing shut to block out the sight of his own death coming to meet him and drag him down into the loving embrace of nothingness - but the impact never comes. 

He falls right through the mosaic of cobblestones, through the Kings flower blooming on the stone, wet with rain that starts falling down from a rumbling sky above his head. 

There is nothing but blackness greeting him once more and he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest, panic bubbling up inside his chest, hot and white and perfervidly. 

His memories are filled with the feeling of endless days and weeks and months spent inside his cage, the darkness consuming him piece by piece until nothing was left but the skeleton of his soul. Until he was stripped down, fibre after fibre of his muscles, so there was nothing but the raw essence of his being. He trashes where he floats still in the middle of this giant bubble, feels it expand around him and then grow smaller again, like the walls of a tent that billows out in the storm on a battlefield. 

Something is burning, the smell almost rancid in his nose, like incense that blackens atop coals. Minseok feels small and too big at the same time, like he is a foreign matter under someone elses skin. This reality tries to reject him, tries to push him out and Minseok suddenly grasps that this is what he did all those months of hearing this all too alluring voice inside his head. He tried to push it out and it pushed back inside. 

This is not his own head, not his own mind - a hostile place where his soul is stuck inside a room, the absence of light eating away at him. It’s a cage just like his own. 

“Strength is the absence of weakness.”, croons the voice once more, sounding rough and too loud, echoing around him, thrown back and forth between the walls of the prison. 

“Weakness is the downfall.”

Minseok tries to move, but nothing happens. His body won’t listen, like it’s not substantial inside a world where he shouldn’t even exist. His skin pricks like a thousand needles are pressing against, just breaking the surface. Like cold water running down his neck.

“All weakness must disappear for me to live on. I have no limit now. No flesh to rot away around me, no time to watch flow by as I grow old and grey and weak. I am eternal.”

The crown on his head feels like stone dragging him down and Minseok tips forwards, brings up his hands and starts pulling. It slips, slowly but steadily, eased by the moisture of his own blood. It feels like the leash that held him down. 

“Eternal King. Eternal despair. Eternally cursed to live on and rule over this forsaken land until the end of time. Oh how many weak Kings I saw passing by, ruining what I built. Look at my Kingdom. We are mighty. We bring despair and fear to our enemies. We are eternal. King.”

Minseok screams without a sound, his throat contracting around the noise although it doesn’t fall from his lips. The pulse thundering away inside his ears is deafening, so loud it makes him dizzy, there is no air inside his lungs. It burns. It burns so much and it hurts. 

It’s a pain like nothing else, like he is pulling out a part of himself, years of his life sacrificed to bring peace to himself again. He rips once more, a fingernail breaking under the force of it, scraping over the jewels embedded into the front of the crown, over his forehead. 

It draws blood, hot and wet as it runs down over his face and into his open mouth, dripping over his upper lip. It budges, more and more and Minseok pulls harder. 

His arms begin the tremble, the muscles under his skin pulling taut and straining under his paper thin skin like ropes holding the sails of a ship, crossing a stormy thunder sea. 

It’s not him.

It wasn’t him. 

Never. 

And it wasn’t his father - the violence, the killing, the beheaded people waiting for Minseok in his nightmares when ever he closes his eyes and lays in a fever dream. 

“I will always be King.”

With a final yank the crown slips free, blood and skin and auburn hair clinging to it and Minseok feels like his body is jolting, like someone is grabbing his collar and pulls him forward, his body tumbling through the darkness and falling again until he breaks through the surface of the cage, breathing in lungs full of fresh, clean air. 

The scream that echoes inside his head is high pitched. screeching like nails on stone, like breaking glass. Then it falls silent and Minseok tightens his fingers around the crown, feeling its edges and curves, the delicate design that is as ancient as Yongnian itself. 

His true heritage, a relict handed down from one King to the other. By one way or the other. 

Minseok breathes out slowly and then opens his eyes. 

What greets him is a fist, an iron gauntlet, the angry and burning eyes of the Blue Lord.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the ending seems rushed.... but I am so bad with fighting scenes because they need a lot of time and careful crafting and I simply don't have the time for that right now ;;; Please forgive me for this! But I needed to finally finish this story! I still hope that y'all with like it - seeing as it is the end of this story and basically the bigger start of the whole cycle! I don't exactly know if I have the time to write the other stories soon (or if anybody is interested to be honest) but hopefully the muse will kiss me soon! 
> 
> Thank you for reading this and thank you for not judging me for my rushing and slacking and plot-holing through this story ;;  
> Just thank you <3

The Golden Tides are serene in the warm air of a summer night, the moon hanging full and white between dark clouds looming in the sky. It’s a dark night, even though the silver coin of the heavens casts an almost ghostly light over the foaming waves crashing against the shore. It’s so dark that it makes Lu Han shiver where he stands on his terrace, a long silken robe wrapped tightly around his body. His scars hurt, his head is spinning. He feels as if his whole body is trembling, like an unknown cold has ripped into his flesh with teeth and claws. 

It’s a fear so old, Lu Han almost forgot he is even able to feel it to this extent. 

He was never scared on the battlefield, never scared even when he faced death. Lu Han was a fearless warrior, brave while wearing his armor. Right now he feels naked and lost, standing here and watching the spindrift dance higher into the night, coating the rocks of Brightblade with a thin sheen of moisture. 

Lu Han knows it’s only been three days now since Sehun broke their promise and left him to go back to Silver Haven - that foolish boy surely knew that Lu Han would have never left the capital city if Sehun wouldn’t come with him, damn him - and yet it feels like weeks to him. 

The weather was pleasant those days while Lu Han first threw a temper tantrum and then sank into despair while he watched the glittering ocean behind his windows, feeling as if his hands were bound. They are, even now that he stands here in his own little Kingdom with an entire army to command - what a useless cripple he is. 

“I trust you.”, he always tells Sehun and he truly means it. He means it when he listens to Sehuns strange prophecies, when he writes letters to his brothers demanding a war to save them all and to save this Kingdom and he trusts Sehun when the younger Prince tells him that they all are bound by an ancient fate and that something evil takes over the Kingdom. 

He never doubted his younger brother, never doubted his abilities in both war and spirit. 

But right now, Lu Han is doubting. He doubts everything, even himself. 

When he turns his back to the sound of the ocean crashing against his land, he wraps himself a little bit tighter into the silk and swallows down his fear. With an impatient flip of his hand he brushes back the curtain of smooth black hair falling over his shoulder, takes a deep breath and leaves his rooms, slamming the door behind him. There is no use in being quiet, not even at this time of the night - not when all the other occupants of the castle are as wide awake as Lu Han is himself. 

The room he seeks out now is right across the hallway, the windows and view facing the rich green gardens in the middle of the castle, the low walls letting the sunlight fall into the portico in bright patches when the sun is highest in the sky. It’s a beautiful room, bright and filled with light and the smell of flowers wafting through the windows all through the year. The walls are painted a gentle white across the rough stones, the ceiling is a handcrafted painting of the Golden Tides and its shores. It might be Lu Hans favorite room, if not for the endless months he spent there lying on his back with his body writhing in pain and the knowledge eating away at him that he will never return to the battlefield. 

Lu Han doesn’t loathe this room exactly, he just can’t stand looking up at the painting anymore. He can’t stand the memories crashing over his head like the waves he loves to much when ever he closes the door behind him and looks at all the bumps and scratches his tantrums left in the dark mahogany wood. The bed used to be empty ever since Lu Han was able to walk again, but now there is a single figure sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned towards Lu Han when he enters without knocking, the moonlight bathing the man in a dark shadow that falls across the white linen sheets behind him. The bed looks untouched except for the spot where the figure is sitting. 

“I knew you would come.”, the man says from the bed, but he doesn’t turn to glance back at the Prince where he stands, arms around himself and his robes brushing against his ankles.

“You were pacing your room for hours. I was already asking myself if you would ever cross that hallway.”

Lu Han clears his throat at that, averting his eyes to the side almost awkwardly as it grows quiet again. The man shifts where he sits, groaning softly under his breath before he chuckles and murmurs: “The Princeling really knows his artisanry, does he not? He stitched me together so artfully, he puts all the healers in Silver Haven to shame.”

“He really does.”, Lu Han answers and talking about Sehun feels easier than talking about the reason he came here. “The North teaches its children well, right?”

“So does the South.”

The answer renders Lu Han speechless for a few heartbeats, the words stuch on his tongue and he has to swallow to say: “So does every region of our Kingdom.”

“Is it really our Kingdom?”, comes the silent reply and Lu Han takes a small step closer, hands falling loosely to his sides as he says: “It is. It is our home, is it not? We are all children of Yongnian.”

A quiet laugh reaches Lu Hans ears and the figure shifts, finally turns on the bed to look at the Golden Lord standing lost by the door. The bruises that still paint this handsome face pain Lu Han when ever he looks at them. His insides twist, but the man smiles. 

“And you are here to convince me to fight for this Kingdom, my Prince? I am sure you are coming to tell me to go out there and fight for a King who has lost his mind like the one before him, who didn’t even bat an eyelash before he plunged a knife into my guts to kill me?”

“Jongdae-”, Lu Han starts, but the Commander of the White guard lifts a hand and cuts him off harshly, his lips a thin white line. 

“My Prince.”, he says and slowly stands up, the injury visibly troubling him still. “I don’t need to hear all those words, trust me. No matter what, I meant those words I said when I vowed my eternal love to him. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am here and he is in Silver Haven and when you came to see me and asked me to talk to him, he didn’t listen.”

Guilt smashes into Lu Han like an iron fist, knocking the air from his lungs and he breathes in sharply when Jongdae smiles at him grimly from where he stands by the window, bathed in light. 

“Do you ask yourself, if I blame you, your Majesty?”, Jongdae asks and although his voice seems light, there are sharp edges to this question, making Lu Han think about the sharp blades of the white grass of the steppes. It’s not a question he needs to answer, because Jongdae knows for a fact that Lu Han blames himself for it, but in the past few days since he dragged the lifeless body of the Commander from the muddy waters of the Silver Port, Jongdae never voiced if he does too. 

“I can answer that for you.”, the Commander says and cocks his head to the side, a muscle jumping on his sharp jaw. “I do.”

Lu Han freezes once more, eyes growing wide and Jongdae huffs out a chuckle. 

“Yes, my Prince, I do blame you for it. I blame you for putting that crown on his head and for pursuing me that night to seek him out. If only I could have stayed by his side, I could have-”

“Waited for your head to be cut off.”, Lu Han hisses and Jongdae shuts his mouth sharply. 

The tension that hangs between them is so thick, one could cut it with a knife, eyes fixed on each other like two tigers waiting to attack and rip each others throats out. 

They were once brothers in arms, fighting side by side and Lu Han knows that it is his own fault that this face off feels as if they are enemies now. 

Once friends, there is only one steps straying from the right path to gain a foe. It’s a lesson learned the hard way, Lu Han tells himself as he grits his teeth and balls his fists, fingers gripping the smooth fabric of his silken gowns. 

“It is the truth.”, Lu Han states loudly and squares his shoulders. He is as tall as Jongdae at best, but he knows that although his form is lean and he looks fragile in his robes, he is the Golden Lord, a presence entire armies have trembled upon laying eyes on. 

He is the God of War himself, people still whisper in Yongnian and who would Lu Han be to back down from the challenge clearly written all over Jongdaes bruised face. 

“Blame it on me, project all your anger on me. I can take it because I am used to it.”, Lu Han says slowly and Jongdae narrows his eyes, crosses his arms over his broad chest and presses his lips together. Lu Han shakes his head softly, waves a hand in front of himself as if to brush his own words away before he goes on: “I have killed thousands and thousands of people, Ser. I got blamed for each soldier I lost, for each life I took with my own hands. The Gods aren’t merciful when it comes to killing. And I made mistakes, grave ones so. I can take your anger, Jongdae. But Minseok needs us now.”

“Us.”, Jongdae spits and turns away, bracing his hands on the windowsill behind him, his head hanging low. “He doesn’t need anything but salvation now, Lu Han.”

“We have to trust in Sehun. And in Minseok. You have said so yourself. It is not him.”, Lu Han presses and Jongdae makes an angry sound, his shoulders straining. 

His whole body is trembling now and Lu Han isn’t sure if its anger wracking through the mans body or if it is grief - tears Jongdae denies himself to cry. 

There are a thousand things Lu Han wants to say, needs to say maybe, but he stays mum. He keeps his mouth firmly shut, watching Jongdae by the window as the moon climbs higher into the sky, half vanishing behind thick black clouds. 

Some battles have to be fought by a single man, Lu Hans Commander always says and the Prince thinks that maybe he never truly understood the meaning of those words until this very moment. Zhoumi wasn’t talking about a fight with sword and shield, he was talking about the war each man fights inside himself at one point in his life. 

Jongdae is fighting, Lu Han notes as he lets his eyes travel over the taut muscles of the Commanders shoulders and where they are straining under the thin linen shirt he is wearing. 

The trembling of his body stops eventually, all tension bleeding from his back and arms and he seems to sink into himself, as if someone took a weight off of him. 

“Even if you are right.”, he whispers and Lu Han holds his breath to not miss a single word he says. “And Minseok will… come back to us… There is nothing I can do. He won’t listen to me. And what can I do here? So far away from Silver Haven.”

“End this war.”, Lu Han declares resolutely, voice loud and clear, the words spoken now the reason he came to Jongdae in the first place that night. “You did once. You can do it again.”

Jongdae seems like he wants to laugh at Lu Hans words, but instead he just casts him a doubting glance over his shoulder. The Golden Lord doesn’t let him speak. 

“My army will be yours, if you will pledge to me now, Ser. If you vow to me to keep my brothers safe and bring them back to me.”

 

The pain exploding behind his eyes is the first real thing Minseok feels in month. The iron gauntlet collides with his nose, snaps his head back and he hears his spine crack with the force of the blow, white stars dancing across his vision. 

A fist balls in the fabric of the high collar closed around his neck adorned with drop shaped sapphires, a few of the gems ripping off the embroidery and clattering to the floor noisily.

Minseok groans and nearly drops the crown he is still clutching with both his hands, the urge to slap a hand over his nose to stop the blood from soiling his robes pulsing in his muscles. 

Another hit lands on his jaw and Minseok yelps, tries to scramble away from the vice like grip holding him still and it takes him a few moments to hear the angry voice thundering in his ears, screaming at him. It’s not the voice he heard for almost an entire year. 

“Drop it!”, Sehun yells at him, shaking him by the collar and Minseoks head lolls uselessly on his shoulders. “Drop this damned crown, brother! I beg you!”   
“Hit me again.”, Minseok wheezes and his voice breaks, feels like it hasn’t been used in ages. Sehun obeys without hesitation, his palm colliding with Minseoks cheek in a hard slap, throwing the Kings head to the side. It hurts - the feeling shooting through him like lightning - and it feels so good. 

It’s real pain, not the ghost of it Minseok felt for so long and he almost revels in it. It’s mortality he feels, his own flesh and blood, bruised and battered and hungry. 

Sehun hits him again, harder this time and Minseok feels his lower lip split with the blow, blood flowing hot and wet over his chin and he catches himself laughing with it. 

With the pain, the reality of it all. 

“Again.”, he commands and Sehuns hand already hovers next to his own head, fingers curled into a tight fist, the knuckles of his gauntlet smeared with his brothers blood. 

The punch doesn’t come, the Blue Lord frozen in his movement and Minseok notices that his hands have raised the crown up to his chest, holding it almost like a shield. 

The gold and bronze glimmer in the light of the braziers lined along the walls of the throne room. It’s like the crown is reveling in it all too and Minseok feels an ancient cold gripping his insides. It is feeding off of it. The violence, the doubt, the fear. 

Minseoks mouth is filled with blood, tasting like copper and salt and he opens his lips to let it drip over his chin, his words muffled and quiet when he says: “Take it.”

It’s always been the crown, he thinks as his fingers grip the golden ring a tad tighter, knuckles turning white as if he is unwilling to let it go. It’s not his own body yet. 

Sehun drops his hand, the metal of his shoulder armor grating noisily. His eyes are searching, the fire burning almost blue inside his normally hazelnut brown orbs. 

When he lifts his hand to take the crown like Minseok asked him too, the King feels his muscles pulling taught, almost pulling the crown away and out of Sehuns reach, but he fights against it, bites his own tongue until more blood fills his mouth and the pain is all Minseok can feel. Real, pulsing, hurting, grounding him. 

Sehuns fingers are trembling as he curls them around the metal, his teeth bared the moment he touches the crown and he pulls, his whole face twisting into a grimace. 

Minseoks own hands don’t budge, there is not a single inch give between them until Sehun hisses: “Let go, Minseok. Drop it.”

“Mine!”, Minseok hisses and snarls, blood splattering over Sehuns neck and face, over the pristine silver of his armor. But in the same breath he whispers: “Brother.”

Sehun yanks, a strangled sound falling from his lips, his arm jerking and the crown comes free. It slips from Minseoks fingers, the blood and hair and skin sticking to his fingers, his knuckles almost breaking with the force he uses to open his fists.

A scream tears itself from his throat, agonized and feeling as if his soul is bursting from his chest, his body caving in on itself and curling forward, filling the void swirling inside his stomach. He presses both his hands to his chest, over his rapidly beating hard and crashes to his knees, more jewels falling from his collar. They rain to the floor around him like bloody tears, stained with the crimson essence of his life.

He breathes in, once, twice and then goes still. 

Under his palms the floor feels cold, the marble almost as white as his skin, the skin around his fingernails ripped and broken and dry. The crown hits the ground too only seconds later, Sehun appearing in his field of vision when Minseok lifts his head and tries to smile at his younger brother, who holds both his shoulders to steady him as he rises to sit on his haunches, his knees scraping over the floor. He feels himself smiling. 

“It’s good to see you.”, he rasps and Sehun looks torn for a moment between the need to slap him again and the need to hug him close, his own smile looking more like a grimace than anything else. “Did you really have to hit me this hard?”

“I contemplated simply killing you.”, Sehun confesses softly and then glances down at the crown. “It was a risky wager. But it worked, right?”

“Did it?”, Minseok asks back and sighs so deeply, his whole body shakes with it, his head falling forward against Sehuns shoulder. “I- I can still feel it writhing under my skin.”

Sehun hums in thought, staying still although Minseok knows that the younger Prince was never one to like physical contact of any form. He is thankful for it right now, but the words just won’t leave his mouth.

“Once you have been touched by an ancient being, you will never get rid of it’s touch.”, Sehun tells him silently, his voice sounding grave and old. “You will always feel it, brother.”

Minseok wants to shake his head, wants to tell his brother that this is different, but what does he know? Lu Han once told him to never doubt Sehuns words, so he doesn’t. 

He doubted enough in the past months to fill a lifetime. 

“How did you know?”, he asks instead of the things he wants to say and Sehun shrugs, jostling Minseoks head on his shoulder. “I just did.”

_ Always trust Sehuns feelings,  _ Lu Hans voice echoes inside Minseoks memories and he manages to laugh, the sound foreign to him now after all this time. 

“One day you’ll get yourself killed with those gut feelings.”, Minseok jokes, but Sehuns answer is all too serious when he replies: “I know.”

It still whispers in his ears now, like someone is breathing down his neck and Minseok fidgets, pulling himself free from Sehuns hold. He wobbles as he gets to his feet, his knees shaking violently and he thinks that not even the walk up to his rooms when he wanted to fling himself off his balcony seemed this hard. Nobody can do this for him. 

People died for him, because of him. People fought wars for him, still do. People trusted in his commands, in his words and in his ability to be better - and he failed them all. 

So this is what he has to do on his own, his own redemption. 

What a coward he was to ever think about choosing self immolation, to ever think about breaking his promise to Jongdae to hold on to his life. What a King he was to choose the path of weakness instead of the path of fighting. 

“Minseok, what-”, Sehun starts, but he silences the younger by raising a hand, coming to his feet with a groan before he gestures for the crown. Sehun hesitates, doubt flickering in his eyes and Minseok clicks his tongue in annoyance, bending down to pick it up himself. 

Fire races through his veins the moment he takes it, his skin prickling where it touches the metal, but he keeps a firm hold on it, ignores the voices growing louder in their whispering around him - like wind brushing through the leafs of the Stone Forest and over the hills of White Hall. Their words are sweet promises, trying to lure him back in and Minseok thinks back to the moment he beheaded his own father, heard the people in the streets chant his name over and over again, cheering for his victory and the new reign of a King. 

He remembers the feeling that came with it, the invincibility of it, the temptation and he knows that none of those things were his own. It all started with this golden ring of regency, his rise, his downfall. He didn’t write his own story, didn’t follow his own path. He just followed someone elses footsteps all along, getting played. 

Not by his brothers, not by the people of Yongnian or the people of the Dune. 

It was himself, the expectations and visions he had for himself. He tried to fill shoes way to big for him, tried to be like the Kings before him. He gave in to the temptation once and forgot who he is. 

Minseok was born a King, daggers waiting for his neck the moment he took his first breath. 

He survived it all, was sculpted by the harsh storms of White Hall, by the gentle snow falling from the sky although the sun was shining. He was crafted by his mothers loving arms, by the clashing of armies. He belonged to the games of something else ever since this crown was placed on his head by the trusting hands of his brothers, never his own. 

Minseok belongs to no one but himself. 

So he grits his teeth harder with each step he takes, breathes through his nose, slow and steady, listens to the sound of heart beating steadily inside his chest and the soft breathing of his brother behind him. No one but himself.

The fire inside the brazier flickers bright and hot, licking up over the coals and the wood as if it is hungry for the things Minseok will feed to it, reaching up for him with tiny arms. 

The heat is blistering against his face, burning in his eyes, but Minseok keeps his ground and stares down into the flames. Yongnian was born in flames once - a fire burning down the walls of slavers cities. Maybe it was fire that gave life to this being Minseok now holds between his hands too. Maybe it were the flames of a forge that drove it mad with pain and loneliness, maybe it was the hammer of a silver smith. 

Minseok doesn’t know and he doesn’t care to ever find out. 

If it all started in fire, then it all should end in fire. 

When he raises the crown between his hands and holds it up over the brazier, the voices whisper louder, more urgent, almost begging him to reconsider. The death he brought upon Yongnian was what he should have reconsidered and there is nothing to contemplate now. 

His fingers open slowly, letting go of not only the golden ring, but of the thing Minseok once said he was born to inherit. His birthright, the things he thought he had to be. 

It hits the wood and glowing coals with a hiss, all the voices murmuring in Minseoks ears hissing at once as the flames close around the gold and bronze. He watches with grim satisfaction as the fire eats them all alive - melting away the curves and edges, the leafs and vine branches, the jewels and ancient promises and evils. A part of himself is burning there too. Minseok stands there, watching it all vanish in tiny rivulets of molten gold, watches it blaze brighter and brighter. And when the sapphire embedded in the very center of the crown finally cracks with the heat, Minseok feels free for the first time in years. 

“Brother.”, Sehun mutters behind him and a hesitant hand touches his hair, begging for his attention. Minseok turns his head and directs his gaze at his brother, his eyes burning with the heat of the brazier, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Your hair…”, Sehun breathes out and Minseok stops in his movement, gaze searching for his own reflection in Sehuns silver armor. It is him looking back at him, smeared with blood and tears - and at the same time it is not. While Minseok looks at himself in Sehuns chest plate, a streak of silvery white brushes through his hair like a painter would across a canvas, the roots slowly turning lighter until the auburn is gone, taken over by the silver. 

He looks a bit more like Chanyeol like this, Minseok thinks to himself while he watches one of his eyes turn from brown to blue, bright and crystal clear like the sapphire of the burning crown. What a fitting image for a man called the White Lord. 

“Touched by an ancient being.”, Sehun says with this voice of his that makes Minseok shiver. 

When the King rips himself away from his reflection, the voices are finally silent around him, only the crackling and hissing of the fire behind him is left. Minseok feels free. 

  
  


A war is sometimes won by a brilliant mind and sometimes by the sheer force of an army. 

Minseok knows that his brothers have both - the strategic minds and the men to defeat every enemy they face. But a war against the Dunes brings more than just the horrors of clashing swords and breaking shields. The Dunes are a terrible foe to face, their warlords just as skilled as Minseoks brothers. This war would long be over if it were any different and although Minseok wishes he could take back his demand for war, there is nothing he can do about it now. No white falcon is able to change this now. 

And Sehun is right when he tells Minseok that the only thing he can do is to ride into war himself and end all this. Their forces combined could defeat the Dunes an end to this war - or so the younger Prince says. Minseok would offer peace to the Dunes, would write endless letters of apology to beg for this peace they all need, but he knows it would be futile. 

When he orders the remaining forces of his army to leave the capital city and ride into battle with him, his heart hurts when he sees the sheer number of men he didn’t send to aid his brothers in a time of need. There are thousands of them, riders of his cavalry, foot soldiers all trained to attend to the King. It’s not only his entire Guard that never left for the war, but the Kings Guard and the Regents army too. They fill the entire courtyard of his castle and the streets surrounding Crown Hold, their armory reflecting the sun and bathing the city in a blinding light. 

It’s been a long time since Minseok wore this armor, the white cloak swishing around his knees and falling softly over his shoulder on the right, the silver pin keeping it closed around his neck. His shield feels heavy when he lifts it, his sword foreign in his hand as if the steel doesn’t remember his touch, or as if an entire lifetime passed since he last held it. 

The ride to the border of the Dunes will be a long one, a hard one at that and Minseok knows that his army won’t be as strong as it is now when the road has worn them thin and they are tired, the horses not as fresh as they are when he will leave the gates of SIlver Haven behind. And the possibility is high that he won’t survive this battle he is about to ride into - not when his body is thin and haggard. When he bathed himself the night before, rubbing ritual salts into his skin and letting Sehun tend to all his wounds, Minseok thought that he is nothing but a shadow of himself now. He is so thin his ribs are almost showing too much, the muscles of his arms and stomach and chest are nearly gone. He has lost so much of his strength that he isn’t sure he will be able to fight like he used to. But the motions of mounting his horse, brushing back his cloak and letting it fall over the stallions rare, the movements of gripping the reigns and steering the horse to the top of the procession are familiar. 

He knows this - knows the rush of feeling strong muscles move under his thighs, air brushing through his now silver hair, the smell of musk and horse and men. It’s something that comes natural to him by now after all those wars he fought and if there is one thing Minseok learned in his life, then it is that the strength of a horse is his strength too. 

So when the gates finally swing open and the army sets into motion, the people of Silver Haven swarm around them, silent and watching like statues along the side of the road ahead of them. They all were locked in here with him, trapped behind the walls that were meant to keep them safe and surely felt like a prison to most of them during this war. 

As Minseok presses the heels of his boots into the flanks of his horse, he tries not to remember the last time he crossed these walls - to become King. 

And he tries not to think about the long ride ahead of him, frightening and energy sapping not only because Minseok doesn’t feel ready, but because Jongdae is not by his side as he rides. 

There is a certain excitement that comes with the unleashing of an army, a certain buzzing that fills the camp when they halt to rest the second night they march from Silver Haven towards the Dune. The men are tired, trudging between the tents with sagging shoulders and slow steps. If only he could cross the distance between his capital and the border in a day or two, Minseok thinks, but not even a Dragon could. He needs to take his time to not tire his men out before the battle even starts, he knows that. He doesn’t need Sehun to tell him and he doesn’t need Sehun to tell him he should get ready for battle too.    
Minseok will never be ready for this battle, will never be ready for a fight without his Commander by his side. So he flees his tent after an hour or two of Sehun lecturing him in the dark of their shared bedding and when he steps out into the night he breathes in deep.

He can feel the buzzing like he used too and even though his men are worn out and tired from the road they have already covered and left behind them, they all are more ready than their King himself. Have they longed for this while Minseok was lost to madness? 

Have they prayed to the Gods to ride into battle alongside their brothers in arms, their fathers and sons? Minseok denied them this for too long. 

And he knows they talk - of course he does, he isn’t deaf. He has heard them mutter to each other about his hair, his eye. Witchcraft, they say and they aren’t entirely wrong. 

A man touched by death, they tell each other and it isn’t wrong either. 

But he feels like he doesn’t know his people anymore, like he is alienated between men that will die for this war he brought upon them in his blinding rage and mistrust. 

Who is he if he calls himself their King and has never broken bread with them? 

As he wanders the camp, drowning himself in the familiar sounds of horses and men around him, he is lost so deep inside his own thoughts that he catches himself looking for the Commanders tent, for the silver flag above white linen walls. It isn’t there.

It hits Minseok like Sehuns fist did, making his steps falter and then come to a halt, eyes scanning the rows of tents surrounding him like a sea of weltering sails. 

“If only Commander Jongdae was with us.”, he hears someone say a couple of feet away from him, voice hushed in a whisper as if talking about conspiracy. “We never lost a battle with him leading us.”

“We never lost a battle under the King, boy.”, a gruff voice answers and Minseok spots a group of soldiers sitting around a bonfire, ducked low and wrapped into their cloaks to shield them from the cold wind that carries the scent of snow. There are two members of the White Guard, older and rougher than the other surrounding them. They are clearly from the East like Minseok - bearded and strong like the trees. Minseok doesn’t remember their names, but he remembers their faces and voices. One of them was member of his palace Guard, appointed to the task by Jongdae himself, a soldier even the harsh Commander trusted not only with his own life but with the life of his beloved King too. 

Minseoks heart hurts. 

“But the King is cursed.”, one of the younger soldiers mutters and pokes the burning logs in the middle of their small circles with a stick. The oldest soldier, the one with a jagged scar running up the side of his neck, reaches out and slaps him upside the head, hissing at him wordlessly. 

“Nobody knows the horrors our King had to face on his own, son. Keep your mouth shut before I cut your tongue out.”, he snaps and the boy pulls up his shoulders. He can’t be older than eighteen summers at best, his body still growing into itself. 

Minseok feels dirty listening to their conversation like this and so he straightens himself, squares his shoulders and walks over to them until he is just standing in the circle of light cast by their fire. All conversation stops at once without him even announcing his arrival, the members of the White Guard looking straight at him over the heads of the others and they all scramble to their feet in a hurry, bowing so hastily, Minseok almost finds it funny.

“Exalted!”, one of the younger ones exclaims and they all echo his words before Minseok can stop them. He raises his hands, takes a step back and says: “Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to startle or interrupt you. I was just looking for a fire and a horn of ale to share.”

A stunned silence falls over the group of soldiers, their movements hesitate as they slowly lower themselves back onto the ground and the wooden crates some of them use as seats. 

The older member of the White Guard clears one of them for Minseok, sitting cross legged on the ground next to the younger one he slapped upside the head, the young soldiers face betraying his discomfort all too clearly. 

“My King.”, the soldier sitting to Minseoks left says slowly, offering him a waterskin and Minseok takes it gratefully, taking a sip of the strong Autumale the men like to share by a fire at night. He swallows around the bitter taste, feels it burn down his sternum and closes his eyes for a second, marveling in the taste of it. 

The mood is tense as they sit there in silence, the noises around them enveloping them like a blanket of background sounds every camp like this brings. Most of them are used to it by now and so is Minseok.

“I didn’t come out here to make you tense.”, Minseok speaks up after a while, staring into the flames in front of him, fingers gripping the waterskin tightly before handing it back. 

“With respect, my Lord, but we thought you were resting with Lord Sehun.”, the older man with the beard says and Minseok raises an eyebrow at him.

“I did.”, he states with a nod and leans back on the crate, pulling one leg over the other. “But I felt restless. It’s been so long since I last rode into battle. And I thought I should spend time with the men following me into battle so loyally.”

“For you, my King.”, the boy says and he sounds like he really means it. 

_ They would all die for you. They all do in the end,  _ the faintest memory of an echoing voice says inside Minseoks head and he quickly brushes the words aside. 

“Not for me. For Yongnian. For our people.”

The soldiers fidget around him, exchanging glances and Minseok adds: “None of you will die for me. Not for me but for your loved ones and our home. I know I brought this war upon us like my father did countless times, but-”

“My King.”, the bearded man interrupts him and he doesn’t look sorry at all even when he bows his head. The members of his Guard know that Minseok is a forgiving man, appreciating the honesty of his men. “We all follow you into battle because we love you.”

“No.”, Minseok smiles at him and shakes his head slowly, eyes trained on the youngest of the circle. “Most of you never rode with me and most of you don’t know me. I am not stupid, Ser. I know that you follow my command because I am King. You, as a member of my Guard have fought many battles by my side, but I know that it was Jongdae who was leading you all.”

“You are not what people told me.”, the youngest suddenly blurts and the bearded soldier growls: “Taeyong! Hold your tongue in the presence of our King!”

“Oh, please.”, Minseok laughs and leans forward, eyes meeting the frightened ones of the boy. “You are right. There was not a single defeat under Jongdaes command. But, young Taeyong, I plan on winning because of him. To honor his name and keep a promise I made to be a better King than my father.”

The raven haired boy opens his mouth and closes it again and Minseok grins at him, split lip and bruises and twinkling eyes. 

“So no. I am not what people told you.”

“Gods.”, the other member of the White Guard suddenly says, snickering. “Look at that! If only we knew it takes our King to finally shut Taeyong up!”

Their laughter booms around the fireside in a choir of deep voices. The night feels a little bit less threatening as Minseok joins in and gratefully takes another waterskin of ale. 

  
  


The borders grow nearer with the vanishing of the soft falling hills of the Midlands, the green of the fields slowly fading out into browns and yellows of the steppe. The ground is trampled by countless boots and horses, the horizon already lined with the pointed tops of tents. 

They can hear the battle already, the screams and the whinnying horses, the ground almost shaking beneath their feet. 

Minseoks riders are lined up behind him, an endless sea of banners and spears backing them up and his horse prances from one side to the other as they stand motionless and waiting. Sehun by his side looks grim, lips thin and eyes narrowed, gloved fists closed hard around the reigns of his horse. 

“Scout!”, a voice shouts from the right and all heads turn in unison, the army moving like a single body. A horse races across the plane, dispersing dust like a cloud behind it. It’s a fast horse, probably one of the fastest of Minseoks entire cavalry, perfect for a scout. 

Minseok keeps his horse still as the rider comes to a halt in front of him, his horse snorts and dances, his fur gleaming with sweat. 

“Sire!”, the rider pants, yanking on the reigns of his mare and directing her to the side. “Lord Yifans forces are pushed back towards the tent line, his men can’t hold off the onslaught of the Dune army much longer!”

“What about Lord Chanyeols men?”, Sehun asks from Minseoks side and the rider shakes his head. “They are holding their ground, my Lord, but they are cut off from the Black Lords legion with the enemy between them!”, the scout answers him and Minseok nods, telling with the single motion to take his place in the army once more. 

“We have to reunite the forces.”, Sehun tells him, stating the obvious. Minseok nods again, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. If Jongdae were with him, he would know the perfect move to push back the enemy and give them some time to reassemble. 

Like this, with both Chanyeols and Yifans forces separated by the Dunemen, the army is doomed. 

“We don’t have enough men with us, Minseok.”, Sehun whispers at him over the sounds of the battle raging behind the military camp lining the hills above them. “Our biggest advantage was our strength in numbers, brother. To defeat the Dunes, two of our legions aren’t enough.”

“Our strength was the bond between brothers.”, Minseok objects softly and then turns his horse around, studying his men, who stand waiting behind them. He has read legends of Warlords giving long winded speeches before riding into battle, but Minseok never did. 

Lu Han is the silver tongue amongst them, able to make an entire city rise against its ruler only with carefully crafted words of passion. 

“Do not be afraid.”, he tells the men in front of him and his words are echoed back towards the man at the rear of his forces, a gentle whisper growing louder and louder with each passing line. “Do not hesitate, do not waver.”

It’s all he says before he turns back to his brother and nods, sending him off towards the left while he guides his riders to the far end of the tents, up the hills where the sun is shining brightly down upon the fields of yellow grass and trampled earth. The spot by his side feels empty and cold as the sun hits his armor, making it glint in the purest color of silver and white, the wonderful inlays of gold along his gauntlets and chest nearly as bright as the sun itself. He never rode alone into battle, never had to face the horrors of death without the man he loves by his side, but now he has no choice. He has to be stronger than this, has to be the example all his men will follow. If their King hesitates, how could they be brave? 

So he draws his sword, signals one of his men to blow the horn to signal their arrival. 

It’s a risky move, taking away the advantage of surprise Minseok might have had, but he has to draw the attention away from Sehun, has to show himself before riding into battle to let his brothers know that he is here. 

There is no battle plan, no time to study the circumstances and Minseok feels like he is riding into battle blind and unprepared. What he sees before him makes his breath hitch in his throat, his fist closing tighter around the hilt of his sword and the cavalry around and behind him moves, lines up in formation as he rises the sword higher above his head, as high as they are raising his pennants. 

The horn still blows, his men falling in tune with it, a war cry so loud it rings in Minseoks ears, but doesn’t join in. He keeps himself still and tall in his saddle, his sword raised and his cloak billowing out behind him, the fight underneath them slowing down as the attention shifts towards them, men turning their heads to look up at the new forces arriving. 

Both friend and foe are alerted of their arrival and Minseok feels the hair in the back of his neck slowly rising as the cry of his men is answered by thousands of voices, growing louder and louder over the battlefield. 

The hornblow stops abruptly, as does their collective scream and even though Minseok hasn’t moved a single muscle yet, hasn’t even given a visible signal, his men feel like an extension of his body, his mind - a force forged by endless battles fought side by side. 

The horses start moving the moment the last sound ebbs away, set into motion like one giant beast, unleashed into war once more and Minseok follows. The riders swarm around him like, their formation flawless by memory as they ride down the small slope that leads down into the battle. There are bodies littering their way, fallen soldiers from both sides, now trampled by the horses now fouled up beyond recognition. He hears the voice of his brother thundering out commands -  _ clear the way! Pull back! -  _ and the soldiers scramble out of the way, hastily retreating into their own formations and lines as Minseok riders race down the hills and crash into the battle. He knows there are probably their own men falling under them too, stuck in a fight man against man, but the Dunemen don’t recede a single inch even when faced with the force of an incoming cavalry. 

Minseok is familiar with the crashing of armies, of spears against horses, of the sounds of his men dying around him, but this time it feels louder to him. He sees them thrown off their horses by mighty spears rammed into the ground to rip open the chests of their horses, the force knocking them out of the saddles, crushing their armors when the iron tips scrape over the horses armor and the force of the ride impales the riders instead. 

Minseok is used to all this. He has seen it so many time, the smell and sight of blood doesn’t make him bat a single eyelash. Every man riding with him knows that death is waiting for him as soon as he mounts and rides by the Kings side. 

Announcing their arrival ups the numbers of men Minseok loses this time, their enemy prepared for their onslaught and still his army is enough to leave a swath of destruction between the two Kingdoms clashing. 

Minseok feels his horse jerk, the animal tearing through the men lining up ahead of them, crushing them under pure muscle and steel, the closeness of their formation making his sword momentarily useless in his hand. But this gives his brothers enough time to reassemble, to gather again and to attack as soon as Minseoks riders have crossed the battlefield, effectively separating the Dunes from the men of Yongnian. 

They will have to make a turn, Minseok knows. They will have to make a turn as soon as they have reached the small stream of water once marking the border between the two lands and as soon as the water splashes up against his legs, he gives the command to turn, the remaining riders slowing down and turning to face the battle.    
It’s chaos behind them, men screaming in agony and crawling away from their own severed legs, some of them slashed open in the middle by swords and axes. Minseoks eyes seek the ground for his men and he tries to count, but his attention is drawn to where he can see the banner of the Black Lord fluttering in the wind. His brother is smeared with blood and mud from head to toe, his black hair matted against his forehead and Minseok feels the need to chastise the younger rise up in his chest when he notices that Yifan once again left his helmet. The Lord is raising his sword at him, wordlessly, his face grim behind the blood and Minseok answers the salute with a nod of his head. The horses around him move, prancing and whining and Minseok signals his men to fall silent with a wave of his hand. 

The lane they have left between the armies is filled with bodies and crimson, the sounds of dying men slowly fading away and Minseok looks over towards the Dunemen, searching for their Commanding Warlord. There are golden pennants raised around a single men, vaguely familiar to Minseok and he searches his memory for a name, but he can’t find it. The haze covering his mind is still too thick for him to pierce and so he just addresses the man by his title, trying to force his voice beyond the point of breaking although his throat is still raw and feels bloody. 

“Noble Lord of the Dune!”, he yells across the field and the Dunemen halt in their chaotic retreat and reforming. The man beneath the pennants shifts, turning his head towards Minseok and raises his halberd a fraction, baring his teeth at the King of Yongnian. 

“I am here to offer peace to you and your men!”

The silence that follows is pregnant with hate, almost so thick in the air Minseok can taste it on his tongue. All men look at their Commander, some of them even lowering their shields as they wait for the answer. It comes as a laugh, bitter and cold and the man takes a step forward, followed by his personal guard. He is small for a Duneman, sandy blond hair falling into his forehead, the golden and black armor he wears still impeccably clean and unblemished. 

“King Minseok.”, the man addresses him with a sneer, handing his halberd to a man by his side to drop into a mocking bow. “I welcome you to the war you brought upon your people all by yourself. And now you are here to offer  _ us  _ peace? You were the one to attack us in the first place! What makes you think we can simply brush this matter aside? Do you expect us to just turn around, leave our fallen friends and brothers behind and go home? To forget about the effrontery of being accused of an attempt to assassinate you?”

“My deepest and most sincere apologies for this misunderstanding, my Lord.”, Minseok answers him and the man starts laughing again, turning away and waving a hand at him like some would at a drunken friend. 

“But you have to understand that the times were hard on us and our people!”, he adds and the Duneman stops in his retreating steps to whip around and glare at him. There are hundreds of feet between them and still Minseok can see the hatred written all over his face. 

“You.”, he says slowly and then comes closer once more, stepping over dead bodies and kicking aside broken shields. “Have the nerve to come here and  _ demand  _ peace between us! Look at what you have done! I have lost thousands of men in this war already, trying to protect  _ my people!” _

“And now I am speaking to you not as King of Yongnian, but as a simple men, begging you to stop this killing. I am here as a brother who doesn’t want to lose a single man to this war anymore.”, Minseok answers him and the Duneman narrows his eyes at him. 

“No peace for Yongnian and Dune.”, he hisses and then yells a command in his mother tongue, his army suddenly moving in a panic to get out of the way. 

Minseok hears it before he sees it and it’s already too late. A rain of arrows hisses through the air, followed by the ear shattering sound of hundreds of war dogs released into battle. 

Minseok has never seen the dogs of war Dune uses in a fight, but he has heard terrible stories about them, has seen men come back from war littered in scars and missing limbs, ripped off by those beasts. 

His mind is reeling, his throat closing around a last plea directed at them Lord now casually walking back towards his Guard and he tries to decide what to do, when the arrows already rain down on them. Not all of them are fast enough to hold up their shields to guard their heads and bodies, some of them riding into battle without one entirely. 

Minseok watches his men fall around him like leafs in autumn, splattered in red and bathed in the yellow light of the sun. Somewhere behind the turmoil of his cavalry he can hear Yifans voice screaming, commanding for arrows, to attack, to strike back once more. But Minseok can’t react, can’t focus anymore, not when there are arrows raining down on him. 

He throws himself to the side, out of the saddle and he hits the ground with the air pressed from his lungs. An arrow is stuck in the metal of his armor right above his knee, one in his shoulder barely scraping his flesh. His stallion nearly tramples him as he tries to avoid the hooves, the falling men, the arrows. 

It’s panic clouding his senses, pure and bitter. 

He comes to his feet the moment the dogs clash with Yifans and Chanyeols remaining legion, the banners of the Red Lord missing entirely on the battlefield although his men are still wearing the red of his house. Minseok sways on his feet, feels for his sword. 

It’s fallen to the ground, halfway hidden underneath a dead horse and Minseok feels his heart beating in his throat with fear. He throws himself forward when his cavalry starts moving again, caught in the same panic as he is, barely ducking away when they charge into battle once more. He falls onto a body, gropes for the sword in the mans hand and for the horn strapped to his side. It’s time and he doesn’t have a choice. 

He rolls down into a pile of corpses, blood filling his mouth and he pushes himself up, bringing the horn to his lips and blows. The sound is long and high pitched, panicked even and Minseok draws in a breath, signals again. 

There is no answer. 

Again and again he calls for Sehun and his reinforcements, but there is no sign of his younger brother, no other horn blown to echo Minseoks call. He’s on his own, caught between the two armies that are crashing against each other in fury. 

He finds himself facing man after man, each of them falling under his sword, his muscles pushing him forward and making him move on their own while his mind is slowly swallowed by fear. 

“Minseok!”, Yifan calls for him over the noise, the screams and the dying. But Minseok can’t answer, not when his tongue is heavy in his mouth and stuck, coated in blood. 

He has to fight for his life like never before, lost between the men and he knows that he isn’t a Lord here, not a King - nothing but a mere soldier trying not to die. 

He doesn’t know what he’s fighting for anymore, doesn’t know why he is here at all. 

What’s the point of all this death?

And Minseok realizes that it’s true what the voice whispered to him one night when he laid sleepless in his bed, staring up at the canopy. He was never on his own. There was always someone by his side, having his back. There were always people willing to die for him. 

Now he is truly alone for the first time ever. 

It’s different this time, when he loses track of everything around him, vision narrowing down to the men he is facing, to the way his sword slices through leather, iron and flesh. 

He doesn’t know how many he is killing or how many he injures. He just knows that he doesn’t want to die. Maybe his death would end this war once and for all, the man who began this all dead and forgotten, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to survive, wants to keep his heart beating, no matter how much it is threatening to burst inside his own chest. 

He can’t give up now. 

Like a ball upon waves he gets thrown left and right, swept away with the current of the battle, pushed forward towards the enemy and then pulled back again into their own rows. 

In the back of his mind he knows that they will get wiped away like dust by the Dunes, their men exhausted and their numbers to small. The Dunes have the advantage this time. 

Maybe this is the result of hundreds of years at war with the Sandlands, Minseok thinks as he gets punched in the face with the edge of a shield, hearing his nose break. He is blinded for a second, his grip on his sword loose enough for the opponent to simply hit it out of the way. The piercing pain in his left has him screaming, scrambling for a hold on reality and he grips the soldiers sword with both his hands, ripping open both his gloves and his skin, to prevent the steel from sliding further into his ribcage. It words, stops the attack more out of shock than anything else and Minseok sneers, kicks the man in the knee and hears the bone break. It’s satisfying as ever, being stronger. 

And when he uses the mans own sword to split open his shoulder, nearly decapitating him with the force of the swing, Minseoks blood sings in his veins. But the wound in his side throbs painfully, making him groan and stumble to the side, falling into another soldier and then to the ground. He presses a hand over the wound, closes his eyes as he feels the ground beneath him shake, the blood of countless men seep into his armor and skin. He feels sticky, sweaty and tired - exhausted like never before. The sun is already nearly gone, the battlefield bathed in an embery glow. Hours, he thinks with a tired smile, eyes falling shut again. It’s been hours. 

A boot misses his head by nothing but a hair width, something wet hitting his cheek, but Minseok doesn’t move. He knows that he’ll die like this if he doesn’t move and pull back, seeks out a healer back at their own camp, but his muscles are refusing their service for him. 

His heart keeps beating. 

Steadily, never slowing down, pumping more blood from his body. 

A sound reaches his ears, unfitting for a war and yet so familiar it makes his eyes water. 

When he looks up at the sky he sees an eagle drawing a tight circle above his head, the white feathers painted red, blue and gold. 

Something stirs inside Minseoks chest, roaring and angry, chanting a name. 

Lu Han, Lu Han, Lu Han. 

It echoes in his head as he watches the eagle rise higher and then drop lower again, opening its golden beak to screech so loud it reaches every corner of the battlefield. 

“The Golden Lord!”, someone murmurs above Minseoks head and the whisper grows louder, louder, louder until it’s a cry of hope. “The Golden Lord!”

Someone reaches for Minseoks arms, hands are pulling him up to his feet and hold him steady, the men surrounding him dressed in silver and white. They stand united, surrounding him like a solid wall of metal and swords and Minseok sees the familiar face of Taeyong amongst them. 

“My King.”, the boy bows and Minseok manages a smile, tears streaming down his face and washing away the dirt and grime from his cheeks. There is no time for sentiment or gratitude, not when the enemy is still attacking, the fight around them undulating back and forth, but there are still voices calling for the Golden Lord.

The eagle screams once more. 

Minseoks Guard clears a path for them towards the Commanders tent, the pennant of their Kingdom marking the giant tent. They are pushing inside, splattered in blood but alive and safe and there are hands already reaching out for Minseok to pull him inside and into a chair, a physician dropping to his knees to press a burning iron into his side without a warning. 

Minseok isn’t fast enough to hold back the scream bubbling over his lips. 

“How-”, he wheezes out and searches the tent, eyes growing wide when he spots Chanyeol sitting by a large table, wrapped in bandages and looking worn. 

“I might have lost an eye.”, the Red Lord says with a nod of his head, leaning back in his chair. “But I am not blind. I never lost you in the battle.”

“Brother.”, Minseok whispers and Chanyeol finally smiles. It’s the same smile as always, a little too wide, too many teeth, even though it is a bit lopsided with the bandages over his eye and cheek. “Brother.”

“Where is Yifan?”, Minseok breathes and Chanyeol waves a hand towards the entrance of the tent. “Out there. Fighting. He isn’t one to take a rest, you know that.”

“He should-”

“I have told him so.”, Chanyeol interrupts him and Minseok shakes his head slowly as he grits his teeth through the pain. The physician shoots him a glance, apologizing silently and Minseok looks back up at his brother. 

“But he doesn’t listen.”, Minseok supplies with a pained smile and Chanyeol answers: 

“No, he doesn’t.”

It’s a little like talking over a glass of wine, not really like sitting in a tent in the middle of a war. Their smiles are a little too easy, too lighthearted. Minseok winces again, the physicians hands stilling on him and then finally retreating and he is about to get up, when Chanyeol stops him with a raised hand. 

“I can’t let you go back out there, brother.”, he says seriously and Minseok raises both eyebrows. “Are you giving me orders? I am the King. I should be out there with our men.”

“You are too important, Minseok.”, Chanyeol shakes his head and gets to his feet, huffing and grunting in pain as he steadies himself on the table with both his hands. “We can’t risk to lose you right now. And Yifan can handle the legion for us.”

“No.”, Minseok snaps and tries to stand, but the physician pushes him back down into the chair with a stern look. One of Chanyeols men then, Minseok thinks as he fixes the man with a heated glare. 

“I won’t take orders from you.”

“I’m not ordering you.”, Chanyeol objects, sounding almost offended. “I am asking you to not risk your life when Yongnian needs you. You-”

“Chanyeol, you don’t understand.”, the King answers him, cutting him off effectively. “I need to be out there! This war is  _ my _ fault! I have to be the one to end it!”

“No!”, Chanyeol thunders, rage flickering over his features. “You’ve done enough, Minseok!” 

The silence that follows is stunned, hurt even. Minseok reels back, biting his tongue and stares at his brother with wide eyes, who looks back at him with his chest heaving. 

It’s true. Minseok did enough. He brought this over his Kingdom, but he can’t accept that Chanyeol wants him to sit back and watch it all end with the death of others. 

No one needs to die for Minseok. 

The noise outside the tent seems to die down for a moment, the world slowing for Minseok as he holds his brothers gaze, not willing to break eye contact, refusing to back down. 

“Minseok, please.”, Chanyeol then says softly and Minseok knows he won. He shakes his head and pushes himself out of the chair, past the protesting physician, who hurries after him as he strides out of the tent, throwing the folds open and stepping out into the evening air. He inhales the stench of blood, sweat and death, embraces it. 

And then he lets his eyes wander back to the fighting armies, to the blurred lines of banners and men, of colors and shapes, before he looks up at the sky, zeroing in on the eagle still circling above them all.

It doesn’t make sense. 

The eagle of the Golden Lord isn’t fighting with them, his injury rendering him useless for war and his entire legion with him. There is no reason for this eagle to take flight and find them, unless- 

Minseok whirls around, nearly falls back into the tent, but Chanyeol is already there, handing him a scroll, sealed with golden wax. Lu Hans signet is emblazoned on the parchment, the wax breaking away when Minseok pushes a finger underneath it. 

“It arrived last night with Lu Hans fastest rider.”, Chanyeol tells him sadly, silently. “I wasn’t supposed to hand it over to you until I made sure you are…”

“Myself.”, Minseok whispers and Chanyeol stays silent, just studies his face with curious eyes. His gaze lingers on his white hair, his now blue eye. But he doesn’t ask and Minseok swallows his own words as he unrolls the letter and starts reading. 

The words are written in red ink, the normally graceful strokes of Lu Hans handwriting seeming hesitant on the white parchment. Minseok has to force himself to breathe evenly, his lungs suddenly feeling too small for the amount of air he needs to draw in, his fingers nearly ripping the edges of the letter. 

“He is here.”, he then says and his head whips up to face the Red Lord again, the letter falling to the ground, forgotten. “Lu Han is here!”

“Yes.”, Chanyeol tells him with a wicked grin and takes him by the shoulders, turns his body around and Minseok follows willingly. The eagle above calls again, high and loud and Minseok feels like someone presses down on his chest, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

Up on the hill, between the fallen horses and men of Minseok cavalry, is Sehun. 

He stands surrounded by a small group of men, all of them wearing the blue cloaks of Sehuns Lordship - his Guard. But the banner raised behind him isn’t blue, it’s golden. 

Golden like the sun, golden like the armor of the man by Sehuns side, his horse clad in the same shining color. 

“Where-”, Minseok starts, breaks off and then starts again: “Where are his forces?”

“Fighting.”, Chanyeol answers him, pointing to the far end of the battlefield, the place where Minseok made his entrance to the war just hours before. The balance there shifts as Minseok watches, the Dunemen pushed back towards the border where the lines of their own tents start, their camp beginning to crumble under the feed of soldiers and horses. 

Sehun was right, he thinks as he breathes out slowly. Their strength was their number. 

It still is. 

No Kingdom ever stood against the force of them, the joined strength of the four oldest. 

And nothing ever stood a chance against the power of the God of Death himself, clad in gold with a mask covering his face as he rides into battle. Minseok can only stand and watch as the now united armies push beyond the borders of their Empire. 

It would be an easy task to take over the Borderlands of Dune now, to push forward and take what Minseoks father lusted after for years. The holy lands of the Sand, with all its forgotten treasures and secrets. Minseok stands there and breathes in, lets the wind brush over his face and through his hair and he tastes splits of a presence on his tongue. 

He listens to the panicked screams of men falling, of noble knights falling and bloodlines being wiped out and he remembers the things he saw while falling into someone elses consciousness, an Empire built on the bones and remainders of houses and slaves. 

“Let them retreat.”, he says slowly and turns his head away from the massacre below their feet. “Let them nurse their wounds and make us peace now. End this madness.”

Chanyeol raises an eyebrow at him but stays mum, just gives a signal to one of his men, who rushes off and disappears between the men of the Red Guard. 

“No more war.”, Minseok whispers and lets the healer pull him back into the tent to have his wounds wrapped and his face cleaned. Chanyeol follows and Minseok knows there is a question lingering on the tip of his tongue, but his brother never asks. 

  
  


The aftermath of Dunes defeat is just as chaotic as the battle itself. 

Healers are wandering the plane of their war side, searching for survivors of both sides, Minseoks orders still echoing across the hills. Bring in the living, line up the fallen. 

There is no honor in war, no heroes. There is no glory waiting for those who have died, no God waiting to take them in. What is left are the prayers and lamentation.

There will be no shining knights returning to their homes, just cripples and broken men who have seen horrors and death. And Minseok sits above it all and is forced to watch. 

His bones hurt, his skin feels tight and there is the ever lingering taste of blood in his mouth, the ancient struggle inside his chest making his heart beat too loudly under his ribs. 

The healer still fawns over him like a mother would over her child and Minseok forces himself to sit still and endure it while his men are still fighting for their lives in the tents. 

Their screams never end, their struggle will fill the night with noise. And they will haunt his dreams for weeks. Minseok is used to it. 

He watches, silent, as if sitting on a throne of bones, his eyes wandering over the field of broken spears and fallen banners, of horses and swords, mud and trampled earth. 

He wishes for rain to wash away the stench of blood, of corpses already decaying in the light of a setting sun, just as red as the rivers of blood that have washed the earth thin over months in this place. The horizon is spanned by the dead, from one side to the other. 

“You look lost, brother.”, Chanyeol comments from the side as he hands him a mug of water. Minseok rinses his mouth, spits out the water and observes as it rolls over the little bit of grass left on this field. 

“Lost in thoughts.”, Minseok answers him slowly and then directs his gaze to where Yifan stands towering over his men, swords still in hand and giving orders as he coordinates the retreat of his legion. The Black Lord doesn’t spare him a single glance. 

“He is angry.”, Chanyeol informs him, picks at the bandage covering his eye with a fingernail. He sounds bored, casual even, even though they are surrounded by the evidence of Minseoks failure. 

“He has every right to be angry at me.”

“Not at you.”, the Red Lord corrects him with a small shake of his head and lays a gentle hand down on Minseoks shoulder. “He is angry at all of us. His craft is the war, brother. It always was. And just like Lu Han, Yifan never had the chance to live a life like the rest of us. Our brothers were raised to be Warlords, not like the two of us. And before…. You started this war, he thought he finally had the chance to be something else than a weapon.”

“A tool of death.”, Minseok adds and finally, Yifan meets his eyes. There is recognition in those yes, a little bit of anger flickering over his brothers face - and then it’s gone, replaced by the confusion Minseok is slowly getting used to. Without his helmet, his white hair shines brightly between the grime of the war. 

“Promise me you will never send Yifan into war ever again, Minseok.”, Chanyeol suddenly demands and Minseok raises his head to look at him. His brothers silver hair is almost as bright as Minseoks own, grown longer than the Prince normally wears it. He looks old now, tired and broken and Minseok knows that look on his brothers face. 

It’s the same look he saw on his own face, still sees when ever he looks at himself. 

The fear of losing a loved one.

“Return to Silver Haven with me.”, he replies, instead of voicing the promise he already made to himself. “Go home to your beautiful whore and vow to me that you will be by my side when I need you. So our brothers can be at peace.”

Chanyeol breathes in deeply, his shoulders shaking and his fingers squeezing around Minseoks shoulder before he lets go. He turns on his heel and walks away without a single glance back at his broken King. 

  
  


Lu Hans eagle still draws its circles above the battlefield, silent and demanding Minseoks attention and his eyes follow each lazy curve the bird paints into the clouds. He feels almost serene now, here in the open where anybody can see him. 

He is exposed to their judgement, their wandering and curious glances. 

Minseok tries to revel in it, squares his shoulders and sits still, a statue. The monument of a King made of flesh and blood, not of stone. The battlefield is slowly clearing, neat rows of bodies wrapped in white cloth now lining up in front of the tents. They are waiting to return home, just as the living do. 

Minseok closes his eyes, whispers a silent prayer to himself as he spots his brothers making their way over to where his chair is, to where he sits for hours already, rooted to the spot, the healer and Guard gone. Minseok is alone. Alone as he faces them all together. 

“With your approval.”, Yifan starts stiffly, without addressing Minseok directly. “I will return home to Ice Reach now, taking my fallen with me to bury them with honor.”

Minseok manages a simple nod, no words leaving his mouth as his tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat clogged. 

“My King.”, Yifan bows and brushes back his cloak while he turns, his face a hard mask of stoic anger. Minseok straightens in his seat, clears his throat and the Black Lord goes still where he stands frozen in motion. “Brother. Just one word.”   
Yifan doesn’t answer him, just turns his head a little to look at Minseok out of the corner of his eyes and Minseok feels his pulse quicken. 

“I hereby name you ambassador of Yongnian to Dune. If you will have the title, it is your task to return their fallen. You’re a man of honor, my Lord. Let them bury their dead just as we do.”

“Yes, my King.”, Yifan answers slowly, bowing his head once more before he strides away just as Chanyeol had before. No single glance back at his brother, who seems so much smaller and so much taller at the same time. The line of his brothers shortens with each of them bidding their goodbyes, Sehun looking grim and stoic as he always does while wearing his armor. The time that passed shaped him, Minseok muses while studying his brothers form standing in front of him. He looks older now, the soft rounds of his face melted away to reveal a sharp jaw line. How much time did trickle through Minseoks fingers without him having a grasp on it? 

“Minseok.”, Sehun urges, ripping the King out of his thoughts with a small motion of his hand, demanding his older brothers attention. 

“Yes?”, Minseok mutters, eyes flickering back to the eagle and them back to the man clad in gold waiting behind Sehun, mask still fixed over his face. It’s not often that Lu Han wears both his helmet and mask into battle and something about it all strikes Minseok as odd.

How long has it been since Lu Han was last able to mount a horse with his stiff knee? 

“I was asking if I am dismissed now, that it’s all settled?” 

Minseok has to clear his throat several times to answer, not a single word leaving his mouth as he struggles for a reply. He wants to let Sehun go, fulfill his promise to Chanyeol and let them all go and live in peace, but at the same time he wishes for at least some of them to stay. How can he lead an entire country with nobody by his side to watch over him - to prevent him from changing again. 

But he promised. 

“If… if you allow me... “, Sehun starts, suddenly looking nervous and Minseok remembers that this Warlord standing in front of him is not even twenty two years old. 

“Go back to Brightblade.”, Minseok decides for him, because he knows that Sehun would never ask for it. “I hereby transfer the command over the Golden Guard and the Golden Legion to you.”

Once more, his gaze wanders to Lu Han, standing silent and tall behind their brother. 

There is no can in his hand and no halberd between his fingers, but an elegant sword, thin and deadly, the hilt shaped like the head of a dragon and the blade straight and narrow. 

With a small, all too knowing smile, Minseok waves Sehun away with a wink, whispering: 

“Now go away, brother. Your fidgeting is tiring me out.”

Sehun opens his mouth, closes it again and blinks. Then he makes a motion as if he wants to look back over his shoulder, but he doesn’t. He just bows, takes a step forward and then dares to show a rare gesture of affection, drawing Minseok in close into a hug.

His gloved fist pats against Minseoks shoulder, his cold breath tickles his ear and Minseok thinks that maybe his brother whispered something to him, but his mind doesn’t seem to grasp it. Maybe he is too transfixed on the man still waiting as the last in line, so fitting to be here and so out of place at the same time. 

“Tell Lu Han, I expect him in Silver Haven at the end of the moon cycle to hold a mass.”, Minseok calls after Sehun, who starts sputtering and gesturing, but the King just laughs and shakes his head. The Blue Lord hurries away with a look on his face that makes him seem like he got caught red handed. 

“Now.”, Minseok turns to the remaining Warlord, crossing his arms over his chest, although everything in him wants to jump from the seat and reach out for the knight in gold. 

“I don’t really know what to say,  _ brother.  _ Your armor seems a little bit too small for you, doesn’t it? And what’s with that sword? I remember the infamous God of Death wielding a halberd, not a sword and certainly never a shield.”

The knight shifts, laughs behind the mask and Minseok feels the hair on the back of his neck rise, half in horror, half in anticipation. 

“I imagined our reunification a little bit different.”, the Warlord admits and slowly lifts a hand, the heavy gauntlet making a soft sound like a thousand golden bells. Fingers pull at the tips of the other gauntlet, slowly peeling the leather and metal away, revealing slender but strong fingers and Minseoks breath hitches in his throat. 

“Different how?”, he breathes out, all but rasps it out because his throat feels dry as sand. 

“You, bursting into tears, swearing your eternal love for me.”, the knight says, choosing each word carefully while he drops the gauntlet to the ground and then reaches for the helmet and mask to pull them off as he speaks. “A kiss, maybe?”

“‘I can offer none of that.”, Minseok replies, etches forward on his chair and then reaches for the small strip of leather around his neck, pulls it out from underneath his white linen tunic.

“But I can offer this.”

A hand wraps around the silver dangling at the end of it, holding it still as the man sinks to one knee in front of him, finally meeting Minseoks eyes. 

“I vowed to always serve you.”, he mutters and rips the leather off the silver, slipping it over his finger where it seems to glow a little bit brighter, as if it recognizes its place there. 

“How could you serve me?”, Minseok gives back with a gentle smile playing around his lips. The very first words he ever spoke to this man kneeling in the dirt before him, now said with a different meaning - no horrible child anymore.

“Well.”, Jongdae laughs and places a hand on Minseoks knee, over his hands, thumb brushing over his own ring of the eternal vow. “I can start with forgiving you for killing me.”

The tears rolling down Minseoks cheeks have never felt hotter and they have never tasted sweeter on Jongdaes lips as he leans forward and kisses him gently.


End file.
